The Lies We Tell
by MidnightOfTheSoul
Summary: When Zoe brings a new case and a new partner to the Lightman Group, long-buried truths will be revealed as they work to defend an innocent man, while a side investigation may place one partner in mortal peril.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Lies We Tell (1/?)

Pairing: gen, possible C/G

Rating: K

Disclaimer: The LtM characters are not mine, a certain lawyer is the possession of DEK.

Summary: When Zoe brings a new case and a new partner to the Lightman Group, long-buried truths will be revealed as they work to defend an innocent man, while a side investigation may place one partner in mortal peril.

A/N: I've been knocking this idea around for the last month and I've been doing research for the last week. Three chapters are written. I can assure you that it will not go the direction you're thinking; so don't even try to assume. No beta, all mistakes are mine. Thanks for reading!

.::.::.

Late Autumn. Foster's favorite time of year. Something about all the pretty colors and hot apple cider and hay rides. Cal couldn't remember exactly, but he was pretty sure Foster was allergic to hay. Regardless, she enjoyed hayrides… because they were fun. Far be it for logic to get in the way of the _pursuit of_ _fun_.

Ignoring the fatigue in his bones, Cal continued on his way to the office. The employees of The Lightman Group had been more than busy lately. It had been downright hectic. He alone had wrapped up three different cases in as many days, Foster had at least two going currently, and Loker had actually brought a sleeping bag into the lab. Torres twice brought Cal information on a case that she was working with Foster, completely at a loss as to why she kept slipping up. They were all being over worked. Well paid, but overworked.

With his purchases from the local coffee shop, Cal deposited a piping hot cup of caramel apple cider on his partner's desk. Hopefully she wouldn't recognize his efforts as anything other than genuine.

"What did you do?" she asked suspiciously with her gaze fixed on her computer, fingers flying over the keyboard.

"Can't I just get you a warm beverage every once in a while?" he asked innocently, taking a seat across from her.

"No, because if you hadn't done anything, it would have just been a cup of coffee. If you were _planning_ on doing something, it would be a pumpkin spiced latte…. You only bring out the big guns if you've already done something."

_Damn. _Infernal woman.

She stopped working and picked up the cup, sniffing it as she surveyed him over the lid. "And this smells distinctly like…" sniff "caramel apple cider. A drink of which you do not approve based on its sugar content alone." Cal scoffed at her observation. "_You _are up to something. Do I need to call the bank?"

Gillian reached for the phone, stopping only when he pulled it out of her reach.

"No such thing, Foster."

She leaned back in her chair, watching him for a moment, shaking her head 'no' even before she replied.

"_No_. I know that look and no."

"Zoe wants our help on a case," Cal started despite her protests. "She's finally taken on a new partner and seems to think that he could benefit from our services."

"She can't afford us, and besides I'm already working the Grant case with Torres and that takes priority."

"Zoe can too afford us," Cal replied. "This is actually an interesting case, Foster."

She narrowed her eyes at him, pursing her lips. "I've heard that before, typically in conjunction with Zoe or an attractive defendant. Now, it's her new partner that has you so bothered. If it's interesting, then so be it. But do it without me. I'm already swamped as it is."

"You can't be serious. If they win the case, it could mean a fantastic Christmas bonus for everyone involved."

With the amount of time they'd spent working lately, everyone could take off the entire month of December and still have fantastic Christmas bonuses. Winning the case was obviously not that high a priority for Cal.

Standing, Gillian gave him an incredulous look. "I know what type of bonus you're hoping for and it has _nothing_ to do with money."

Cal's jaw dropped at her insinuation while she slid her arms into her red woolen pea coat. She only wore this jacket in the fall because it matched the leaves and if anything, Foster was a fan of color coordination. He bet her underwear even matched her sheets. Shaking his head from the thought of _Gillian in bed_, Cal stood and trailed her down the hallway as she stopped by Torres' office.

"I'm meeting with Grant in twenty minutes," Gillian informed Torres. "Would you mind pulling up our interview from yesterday? I'd like to compare both interviews when I return."

"Sure thing," Torres replied as she turned toward the lab. Cal dodged his protégé as he continued to walk right on Foster's heels.

"Cal, I'm serious." Foster stopped abruptly, causing them to almost collide. "You need to redefine your relationship with Zoe before we keep taking cases from her. Because this…." she searched she motioned to the ether in the absence of words, "_thing_ you keep doing? Roping us all in to 'work a case'… isn't going to fly much longer."

"You didn't even let me tell you about the case," Cal replied indignantly.

"I don't care, I really don't. I'm not working another case just so you can…" she cut her self short before she said anything incriminating. Cal watched her closely for a second, but she turned abruptly and waved him off.

"This isn't over, Foster!" he called as the door shut behind her.

.::.::.

Five minutes into meeting Zoe's new partner and Cal decided that he couldn't stand the man. Sitting in the conference room, Cal glanced at Loker and Torres sitting on one side, Zoe and her partner on the other. Cal alternated between sitting and standing, growing more irritable by the second. The _new partner_ was from Boston and had passed the D.C. bar exam over a year ago. He'd been working in the area for a short while before joining forces with Zoe.

To be honest, the only reason Cal had agreed to the meeting was so he could get a solid read on Zoe's partner. Cal hadn't bothered to look at his work history, mainly because he could care less. The problem was that this new guy _did_ know the law, and he knew it well. He also had an ego that could rival Cal's, so he'd probably won quite a few cases to back it all up.

All things considered, Cal considered him to be a pompous jerk with a chip on his shoulder the size of the English Channel. He was smug, forceful, and attractive. _Just Zoe's type_. Cal slouched back into his chair as her partner continued to relay the information of the case in a systematic and orderly fashion.

Shaking his head, Cal interrupted and turned to Zoe. "This all sounds well and good, but from what you've told us and all the evidence we've been provided, your guy is guilty."

"Cal —" Zoe started, giving her partner a sheepish look. "Just… listen to the tapes that we subpoenaed from the police. If you think he's guilty after that, then we'll be on our way."

"You _know_ audio isn't my specialty, Zoe. Give me something I can look at if you want my help."

"What about Foster?" Torres asked, stating the obvious.

"Foster has her own caseload to worry about," Cal replied, shooting Torres a warning look to keep her shut.

Loker glanced around the room, shrugging his shoulders sensibly. "I think it's pretty obvious here that there's a lot more going on than meets the eye. How about we just listen to the tapes, Lightman? If there's more to it, then maybe we can bring it up with Foster."

Cal pinched the bridge of his nose in aggravation. He really, _really _did not want to deal with an annoyed Foster. It was bad enough dealing with his ex-wife. Annoyed Foster was nearly impossible to placate, especially if caramel apple cider wouldn't do the trick. He glanced at Zoe, then at The Windbag with his Frank Sinatra blue eyes and frowned.

"Fine. One listen," Cal said brusquely. He took the discs from Zoe and launched them in the player, turning up the volume so everyone could listen. While the audio kicked on, Cal called Heidi, asking for her to send Foster to the conference room when she returned.

Three minutes into the tapes and Cal had heard enough. "First off, we can't even understand half of what they're saying."

"_You _understand it, Cal, you took French at University," Zoe replied, confused.

"Yeah, _at Uni_. Twenty plus years ago. My French is passable at best. On top of that, you can't honestly expect us to _analyze_ this. Their vocal patterns are completely different."

"We do have the software to run vocal analysis, even some regression patterns," Loker stated, biting his lip when he caught Cal's look of irritation.

"Hmph," snapped Zoe, giving her partner a smug smile. "Listen a little bit longer, they start speaking in English again. That's when it gets good."

Cal leaned back against the glass wall, staring at the ground as he listened, grappling with the speed with which the men were speaking French. Finally, the English resumed and Cal's head stopped hurting from the strain of concentrating so hard. He rolled his eyes at the supposed 'good part', shaking his head at Zoe who shrugged in reply. The English quickly resorted back to French, causing Cal to groan in frustration.

"I'm lost. This… no. Zoe, I haven't a clue as to what they're saying. We'd need a French interpreter to make heads or tales of all this. Why'd you take the case to begin with?"

"I didn't," Zoe replied, motioning to Blue Eyes, "_he _did."

Suddenly, another softer, clearer voice spoke up from the threshold of his office. "There's also the simple matter that it's not standard French, either… I'd say it was more Belgian French. Though, that's only a minor difference."

It was Foster, leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed, looking particularly stunning at the moment, what with her rosy cheeks to match her red jacket. She nearly glowed. Cal noticed the lawyer shoot up upon seeing Gillian, shock written across his features.

"Besides," she stated offhandedly, "all they're talking about is the latest football match between Namur and Liege. _Very interesting,_"Gillian gave Cal a pointedlook and for a second he wanted to stomp his feet and pull at his hair.

Casting the gawking lawyer a curious glance, Cal motioned for Foster to come in. She refused with a shake of her head and raised eyebrows. Disregarding their present company entirely, they engaged in a silent discussion from across the room. He could tell by the wary look she was giving him that he'd get an earful later. Cal crossed the room and invaded her space, but she didn't back up. Obscuring the others from view as he watched her clench her jaw at intervals with narrowed eyes. She too was reading him and by the way she exhaled quickly, she seemed willing to appease him… momentarily.

Moving aside, Cal turned and found that idiot lawyer still staring at Foster like he'd seen a ghost. With a close eye on her partner, Zoe stood to introduce them. Foster glided over somewhat hesitantly while Cal watched the whole scene as though it occurred slow motion.

"Gillian," Zoe held out her hand to shake, which Gillian accepted smoothly. "I'd like you to meet my new partner, _Bobby Donnell. _Bobby, this is Doctor Gillian Foster."

Like a switch had been flicked, Gillian's shoulders tensed and her entire demeanor changed, going from forced warmth to blank coldness. It was almost as though the air had left the room as Gillian and The Windbag stood across from each other, motionless. Torres' eyebrows drew together in interest as she exchanged a look with Loker, also intrigued.

"Are you related to —" Bobby asked, completely unlike the self-assured windbag he was earlier.

"Lindsay Dole?" she replied evenly. "She's my cousin."

"You look…" Bobby gestured as he gave her a once over. Cal stepped forward, not appreciating the way The Windbag was staring at his Foster. He then glanced at Zoe who looked purely beside herself with undisguised glee.

"We get that a lot," she replied automatically as she adjusted her purse on her shoulder. She took a moment then fixed him with a fierce look. "I'm just curious, but did they disbar you in Massachusetts or did you run out of murderers and drug dealers to defend?"

Loker choked on his own laugh while everyone's eyebrows darted upwards, surprised at Foster's uncharacteristic hostility. Everyone except The Windbag, at least.

"Ah, I see the rapier wit extends throughout the entire family," Bobby shot back, shoving his hands into his pockets. Cal noted that he seemed to be squaring himself for battle.

"Only on my Father's side," Gillian replied scornfully, ignoring his stance as tension continued to thrive.

On his part, Cal was completely amazed that this supposed stranger was able to elicit this type of response from Foster. He'd witnessed it maybe once or twice — it was so utterly foreign to him and the others. They couldn't help but become enthralled by the scene before them.

Suddenly remembering she had an audience, Gillian glanced at Zoe then shook her head, backing away slowly. "Have a good afternoon, Mr. Donnell… Zoe."

Still completely befuddled by what just happened, Cal watched as Foster left the conference room without giving him a passing glance. Looking from the empty doorway back to Zoe, he was about to speak when The Windbag started walking after Foster.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll be right back," Bobby said as he traced Foster's steps through the door.

Cal, torn between going after Foster or berating his ex-wife, decided on the latter. Motioning for a perplexed Torres and Loker to get out, Cal crossed his arms as he stood before Zoe, oscillating between confusion, doubt, and anger.

"Alright, what the hell just happened and what are you playing at?"

.::.::.

A/N: This was a feeler chapter. I need to know that I'm not wasting my time in writing this. I'm not certain how frequently I can update yet, but I do hope to get half of it finished before long. I'm going to put a kibosh on those of you thinking there might be a Bobby/Foster thing, because it won't happen. In my mind he still loves Lindsay. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: The Lies We Tell (2/?)

Pairing: gen, possible C/G

Rating: K

Category: Suspense/Drama, dash of angst

Disclaimer: The LtM characters are not mine, DEK owns Bobby.

Summary: When Zoe brings a new case and a new partner to the Lightman Group, long-buried truths will be revealed as they work to defend an innocent man, while a side investigation may place one partner in mortal peril.

A/N: Thanks for the feedback everyone. I hope I manage to keep you all intrigued. No beta, all mistakes are mine.

.::.::.

Gillian was fuming. If she were prone to petty cat fights, she'd have slapped that smug grin right off Zoe's face. She must have planned it or something, because there was no way Cal would have knowingly agreed to the meeting. A twinge of doubt thrummed inside her brain, though Gillian quickly dismissed it. She _hoped_ he didn't know. Even then, Gillian doubted that Zoe had any idea what havoc could be wrought by having Bobby Donnell as a partner.

Once inside the confines of her own quiet, calm office, Gillian took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She glanced outside at the beautiful array of colors, but even that did nothing to lift her spirits. Shrugging out of her jacket, Gillian turned when she heard a soft tap on her door. Quickly squaring her shoulders, she sucked in a breath as she nodded for Bobby to enter.

Just the sight of this man brought about so many conflicting emotions inside her that she couldn't even begin to name one. For one thing, he had the bluest eyes she'd ever seen, bluer than Alec's, that was certain. And that jaw line? Wow. Lindsay sure knew how to pick 'em. Taking another breath, she felt the confluence of anger, distrust, disappointment, frustration, and good old-fashioned fear ball up painfully inside her.

Abruptly halting her wayward introspection, she stood behind her desk as he walked into her office and stopped directly across from her. Watching each other for a moment, he flashed her a brief smile then began speaking.

"I don't think we got off to the right start," Bobby stated amicably. "Bobby Donnell." He held out his hand for her to shake, but she couldn't help but eye it warily. Biting the inside of her lip, her inner polite host took over.

Grasping his hand, she stubbornly ignored its warmth as she looked him in the eyes, watching him closely. "Gillian Foster."

Bobby seemed to be searching her features for any traces of her cousin. Realizing that they were still shaking hands, she removed hers from his grasp and motioned for him to sit down as she took a seat.

"You never came to the wedding," he stated quickly.

"If I recall correctly, you eloped."

"We had a ceremony a little while after," he said as he crossed his legs casually. Not having anything to say, Gillian didn't reply. Watching each other for a few more seconds, she decided to stop his mental comparison study.

"Mr. Donnell —"

"Bobby, please. It's sounds weird for you to call me that."

Gillian smiled at his frankness and continued, "Bobby, make no mistake. Lindsay and I may look alike, but if you're here to figure out where she ends and I begin, then I suggest you return to Boston and start from there."

She watched his jaw harden at her words and knew that she'd hit the intended target. Fully expecting him to leave, she frowned when he simply propped his elbow on the armrest and grinned.

"I'm fine right here, thank you," he replied as his eyes bore into hers. "I'm just curious, how it is that I never knew of your existence until five minutes ago?"

"My family isn't close," she offered simply, not giving him more than that. He seemed to realize that she was stonewalling him and nodded.

"Are you going to take our case?" he asked, changing tactics.

"No," she said as she pointed to the file before her. "I'm already working two cases as it is. Not only that, but I have a budget to balance."

"Mmmhmm." Bobby studied her for a moment longer then stood, buttoning his bottom button. "Well, excluding all this," he said motioning between them, "I think you'll find that this case has its merits. The gentleman you identified from the tape is a Belgian with American citizenship being accused of murder."

Gillian nodded, not rising to the bait. Very little intrigued her about murder and she truly did not want to spend the next couple months helping _The Law Offices of Landau and Donnell_. Not only that, but Cal would be unbearable with Bobby around.

"I know your track record," Gillian replied with ease. "I have no interest in helping a guilty man go free."

"But he's innocent."

"Do you _really_ believe that?" Gillian asked, surprised by the conviction in his voice. Watching him closely, she saw the indignation sweep across his features, a flash of anger, then resolution.

"Yes, I do." There wasn't an ounce of doubt in his reply and Gillian felt the slightest bit of her resolve give way.

"Why?"

"You never finished listening to the discs. There's more going on there." She caught his slip up. Of course there was more than one disc.

"Why do you need me to listen if you already know what they're saying?"

"We already had an interpreter relay the information to us. Just… please. Take a listen. If you think it's a lost cause, then we'll pack our bags and get out of your way."

Gillian knew this approach; it was the subtly aggressive approach. By the tone of his voice, there was something big on those discs. If she listened, she was bound to discover what it was.

"I'll listen to the disc, but that does not mean that I'm agreeing to take the case," she stated firmly as she stood and rounded her desk, "regardless of what we hear."

Not waiting for him to catch up, she walked across the hall and spotted Loker and Torres. They were whispering feverishly over Loker's iPad as they sat in the chairs just outside Cal's office. Apparently Cal and Zoe relocated their argument for the benefit of everyone involved.

"Have they started throwing things yet?" asked Gillian, coming to a halt before them. Both looked up guiltily and she couldn't help but shake her head, knowing they'd been trying to figure out what Bobby Donnell was to her. Though he was her cousin's ex-husband, for all intents in purposes in this matter, he was a prospective client. Nothing more.

Torres finally spoke up, "No. Just a lot of yelling. Based on that alone, I'd say that we're probably not going to take the case."

"Why? Because Zoe and Lightman don't get along?" Bobby asked from his position just behind Gillian. She took a subtle step to the side, not wanting to stand so close.

"No," said Loker. "It seems Lightman can't stand you, but that's nothing new. He tends to get very territorial. I'd say the only reason he agreed to the meeting at all was so he could get a read on you."

Gillian smirked at Loker's candor as she spotted the disc on the table in front of Torres and picked it up. Turning away from them, she pushed open the door to Cal's office, praying to God that she could get out of this relatively unscathed. The other three trailed behind her into Cal's office, perfectly willing to let her bear the brunt of whatever was occurring inside.

Fortunately, Zoe was sitting on the couch, arms and legs crossed petulantly. Cal was staring her down, rolling the remote in his right hand. Disregarding the tension entirely, Gillian approached Cal and removed the remote from his grasp then inserted the disc in his computer. Leaning against his desk, she pressed play on the remote and listened, arms crossed with her chin perched atop her fist. Staring at the ground, she ignored all the other occupants in the room. She didn't particularly care for any of them at the moment.

The men had gone from speaking casually about the football match to the events of the upcoming weekend. From the occasional ruffle of clothing, she could tell someone wearing a wire had obtained the feed. Apparently, the men had a shipment of 'goods' coming through Baltimore harbor that evening and were trying to decide who was going to be the receiver. Gillian inwardly groaned. The scenario was sketchy at best. She almost didn't want to listen further.

Then she learned what the 'goods' were.

Her head shot up in surprise as she glanced first at Zoe, then Bobby who was leaning against a chair.

"You can't be serious. Is your _client _the one responsible for that shipment?"

She watched Bobby glance at Zoe who shrugged, then nodded. They were definitely hiding something and would claim attorney-client privilege. Sighing, Gillian tried to ignore the annoyance building within her.

"Keep listening," Bobby pleaded quietly.

Gillian frowned, warily looking at Cal who had a rough idea of what was going on. The two men started to argue, their tone becoming sharper as they continued to disagree. A door opened and another voice, deeper and older, started shouting as the situation quickly escalated. Gillian lost what they were saying, distracted by the fury enmeshed in the hostile exchange.

Suddenly, a gunshot sounded and someone slumped to the ground, exhaling his last breath. The audio shut off shortly thereafter, leaving the listeners to wonder who'd been wearing the wire at the time.

Biting her lip, Gillian continued to look at a blank spot on the ground, debating whether or not she wanted to pursue this. It didn't help that the lawyers weren't being completely open either. Then again, until the company officially took the case, Bobby and Zoe didn't have to be completely upfront. Cal started speaking, but Gillian blocked him out for the time being, continuing to deliberate mentally.

"A couple things," said Gillian after Cal had turned to her waiting for her answer to some unheard question. "Are you aware that your client is trafficking young women into the country?"

Gillian watched Bobby while Cal watched Zoe. Gillian frowned at the obvious guilt then denial on their faces. Her jaw dropped in shock: "So you're defending a human trafficker and it doesn't bother you at all?"

"What bothers me is that he is being denied _justice_," Bobby replied firmly. "We have proof that another party could have committed the murder. Our client claims he is innocent and it is our duty to defend his innocence, regardless of his supposed profession." Gillian saw a flash of _something_ when he looked at her and absently wondered how Lindsay would react in this type of situation. Deeming that course of action ridiculous, she quickly brushed the thought aside.

"Just curious," head falling to the side, Gillian steadily continued, "does the righteous indignation work on everyone?" Before he could respond, Gillian turned to Zoe and disregarded Bobby entirely. She was stretched way too thin to bother with false pretenses anymore. Time to cut straight to the point.

"Where are the rest of the discs?" She needed to know what else was on them in order to get a full understanding of the situation and the client.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Zoe replied blandly, making Cal scoff.

Nodding slowly, Gillian had her answer. Finally having enough, Gillian quietly set down the remote and pushed off from the desk. Head high, shoulders back, she passed Cal then Bobby on her way to the door against which Torres and Loker were leaning.

"So that's it?" Bobby called vehemently after her retreating form. Gillian glanced at Torres who appeared surprised by his outburst. "There's reasonable doubt of who committed the murder on that disc and you're just going to walk away?"

Gillian turned slowly, glancing at Cal who looked like he was about ready to tackle Bobby. She'd have actually enjoyed that, but she really did have to finish up her case and didn't have time to waste on this mess.

"I may not be a constitutional law expert, _Mr. Donnell_, but I do know the law _and_ your dirty tricks. You and your partner aren't disclosing all the pertinent information to this case. If and when you decide to stop grandstanding and become honest with us, maybe then I'll be willing to care about your _innocent client_," Gillian stated assuredly. Looking once more at Zoe who seemed to be biting her tongue, Gillian gave them a warm, sincere smile, "Until then, it's been nice meeting you, have a great day."

Grabbing Torres lightly by the shoulder, she continued out of the office and toward the lab, hoping to get her work done.

"Wow, Foster, never knew you had it in you," Torres remarked as she glanced over at Gillian. Wishing that Torres would somehow learn when to censor herself, Gillian disregarded the comment.

"Do you have the interview I asked for?"

"What?" Torres seemed briefly confused, "Oh yeah, it's already loaded and ready to go."

"Good, let's get started."

.::.::.

A/N: Let it be known that I like Zoe. I think she's awesome. I don't intend to make her out to be the bad guy, it's just that Foster hasn't had a chance to process everything, yet. Also, this is plot!fic + me creating a bit of Foster backstory. By golly, if the writers won't do it, then I will.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: The Lies We Tell (3/?)  
Pairing: gen, possible C/G  
Rating: K  
Category: Suspense/Drama, dash of angst  
Disclaimer: The LtM characters are not mine, DEK owns Bobby.  
Summary: When Zoe brings a new case and a new partner to the Lightman Group, long-buried truths will be revealed as they work to defend an innocent man, while a side investigation may place one partner in mortal peril.  
A/N: Thanks for the feedback everyone! No beta, all mistakes are mine

.::.::.

"You know, they didn't have to disclose any information to us," Cal said quietly from his position next to Foster. They were sitting on the stairs leading up to the roof, holding hot toddies and watching their breath turn to vapor. The city glowed all around, not allowing for any stars in the darkened sky.

"I know. I just wanted them to leave and that was a good excuse. I'll have you know I wrapped up the Grant case and finished the payroll," she stated with obvious satisfaction. Her mood was certainly much improved over what it had been earlier in the day. "We're lucky we don't pay ourselves overtime. The company wouldn't be able to afford us."

"Hmmm," Cal hummed with a small grin. She nudged him in the shoulder with her own, causing him to turn to her slightly. Her eyes were sparkling from the cold air, her cheeks red from the breeze, and the warmed alcohol made her smile wider than usual. She literally stole the air from his chest, making it pinch in an oddly comforting way. It seemed to be happening more often lately, making him wonder if he should see the cardiologist.

Breaking eye contact, he looked back into his mug and took a bountiful sip, savoring the warm tingle down his throat. Taking a breath, he fixed his gaze outward, not wanting to see her reaction when he brought about a most unpleasant turn of events.

"I took the case," he said suddenly, feeling her stiffen beside him as she processed his words. "I actually agree with that idiot; about there being a possibility that their client is innocent. Just want a chat with the client next Monday to see what's what."

Foster didn't speak for an alarming amount of time and he bit his lip, waiting for the inevitable fallout. He knew the longer she took to respond, the more she was censoring herself because she rarely lashed out irrationally. Though, if there was a time to be irrational, this was it.

"What do you want to know?" her voice held none of its joviality from a few moments ago.

"What?"

"You had to have taken this case for a reason, Cal," he could feel her watching his face as she spoke. "You don't need the excuse of a case in order for Zoe to sleep with you; it was pretty obvious she'd have done it anyway. You didn't take it because of the case itself, because _even you_ have standards. So that only leaves one option, and that is the actual lawyer trying the case — Bobby Donnell. You don't want him working with Zoe, you want to know why I dislike him so much, and you definitely want to see how this could all play out."

Cal remained silent for a moment then sputtered, "I think I just took offense to your entire argument."

"Why? It's all true!" she stood at this point, pouring the remnants of her drink over the edge. He frowned, knowing in the back of mind that she was right.

"I'm willing to give you one of the many things you want at the moment," said Gillian as she turned to face him, her arms crossed. "Just… please. Drop the case."

Cal watched the tight pull of her lips, the tug of her eyelid, the stubborn set of her brow. She was angry and afraid… and wary. Even worse, she wasn't even trying to hide from him; instead, she opened herself up completely. The whole situation begged for him to explore it, to get to the truth. And the truth was one thing he could never refuse.

"I already know why you dislike Donnell, that was pretty obvious from early on," Cal shot back, turning a bit so it would be harder for her to pass him on the steps. Gillian remained quiet, safely assuming that he would never be able to hold back a chance to relay what he knew.

"Even though you never mention your family, you're fiercely loyal. Always have been. Regardless of who's at fault for the dissolution of their marriage, you've decided to side with your cousin and place the blame on Donnell. The fear and anger were coming off you in waves earlier. Didn't take a scientist to figure that one out."

Cal watched her as he spoke, but the poor lighting did little in the way of reading her reaction. Though he could see the tension in her posture and readied himself for a rebuttal. Instead, she turned and faced him squarely, back pressed against the railing as she propped up her arms. She had a faintly familiar smile on her face, but he couldn't place it. All he knew was that it was dangerous.

"Yeah, that's exactly why," she replied sardonically. "Right again, _Doctor Lightman_."

By the scornful tone of her voice, Cal realized that he was sorely mistaken. Frowning, he stood and took a step closer to Gillian, but found her to be overwhelmingly impassive — such a contrast from a moment ago. She broke eye contact with him and looked to the side, her bottom lip quirking downward.

"Be safe getting home," she said quietly, brushing past him as she took the stairs inside.

Cal remained on the rooftop a little while longer, cursing his arrogance. She'd given him the widest opening imaginable, and he'd blown it. He'd be lucky if she ever told him now.

.::.

The next couple days slowed down a bit, at least to the point where everyone could leave at a decent time. On Tuesday Zoe dropped off a file on their client as well as the remaining discs, agreeing to meet him for dinner later. After closing his only open case, Cal shut himself up in his office and brushed up on his French, among other things. He also took the reprieve as an opportunity to make amends with Foster, trying to stay out of her way. This method was typically the best way to proceed, if only because he doubted he could watch her _angry strut_ much longer. Though mesmerizing, the sharp tack of her heels on the floor drove invisible nails inside his skull.

Gillian seemed to pick up on what he was doing and kept her distance as well, letting her anger simmer. One thing he loved about her was that Foster wasn't one for holding grudges. By Friday evening, he'd carefully pestered her into grabbing some take away and finishing up paperwork at his house. Emily would be present, of course, which lowered the potential considerably for Bad Things To Happen.

"How do we have so much food?" Cal asked as he surveyed his kitchen table. It was nearly covered in white styrofoam boxes and there wasn't a shred of paperwork to be found.

"You wanted Thai, I wanted Indian, and Emily wanted Italian," Gillian replied sensibly. "Speaking of, where is Emily?"

"She was at a basketball game, said she'd be home in about ten minutes." Cal poured them some wine while Gillian set the table.

"Word on the street is that there's a kid at her rival school who's getting scouted by at least twenty different division one schools."

"Word on the street?" Cal asked as he handed her the glass of wine and took his seat. "And who'd you hear that from? Your bookie or your inside source?"

Gillian rolled her eyes at Cal and merely shrugged, sipping her wine demurely.

"Wait. Do _you_ have a bookie?"

Gillian merely laughed and started scooping out basmati rice onto her plate. "Just to ease your wild imagination, no, I don't have a bookie. I ran into an old friend at a Georgetown game last weekend and her husband is a history teacher at the kid's school."

"When do you find time to go to basketball games?"

Gillian shrugged. "It was spur of the moment and I really needed to shut off my mind for a little bit."

"Understandable," Cal nodded at her words, knowing exactly what she meant. "When you mentioned the payroll the other day, it got me wonderin'… how much time a week do you and I put in? Over I mean?"

"Combined, I'd say 40-50 hours."

"What about separate?"

'That's harder to determine. Lot's of factors are involved," Gillian replied as she speared a piece of chicken with her fork. "It depends on whether or not you have Emily during the week, if one of us is dating someone, if you're doing something… dangerous, the level of priority of a case, and manpower involved."

"Think about this a lot do you?" Cal smirked at her as she stole some shrimp off his plate. He retaliated by snagging some of her naan and stuffing the whole piece in his mouth, much to her chagrin.

"I hope you don't choke on that," she stated as she shook her head at his childishness.

He said something unintelligible and she sighed in response, propping her head up with her fist. She gave him a soft smile when she was sure he could talk again, and then turned her attention back to her food. Though Gillian wasn't cross with him anymore, she was still wary around Cal. He found that he didn't enjoy being on the receiving end of her doubt. He absently wondered if this was how her ex-husband felt the last few months of their marriage. Not only that, but he could tell something was bothering her, but from the way she acted, she seemed to be ignoring whatever _it_ was. They ate in silence for a couple minutes, Cal's mind wandering as he pilfered one of Emily's meatballs.

"Foster?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why do you like basketball so much?" Cal asked casually, but was watching her closely. The carefree expression on her face suddenly dissipated, replaced with a tightness he didn't like. She looked down in her lap and sighed, a giveaway that she didn't want him reading her. Before she could respond, they heard the front door slam and in walked Emily. Her hair was sprayed half white and half blue, her lips painted an awful shade of royal blue that matched her striped shirt, and every exposed body part shone from the copious amounts of glitter with which she'd been sprinkled.

"What in God's name happened to you?" asked Cal.

"Spirit Day," Emily and Gillian said at the same time.

"Jinx!" They said together.

"You owe me a coke!" They said again.

"Knock it off," Cal interrupted as the pair giggled. It was beyond Cal how a woman like Gillian could giggle so effortlessly with a teenager. Emily took her seat across from Gillian and managed to extract her meal relatively unscathed.

"Who won?" Gillian asked as she closed up her own box of leftovers.

"Our opponents. So much for _spirit._ At one point, our cheerleaders gave up all pretense and started cheering for the other team."

"Ouch," Gillian grimaced. "How was Miller? Last game he had over ten three pointers."

"Oi, stop it with all that basketball rubbish," Cal interjected. He once made the mistake of riding in a car with Foster and Reynolds to a meeting. It was non-stop basketball talk the entire time. He wanted to exit the vehicle and let it roll over him by the end of the journey. "How's your mum?"

"Fine," Emily replied as she twirled her angel hair pasta around her fork. "She's been up late every night this week working on some case. Did you meet her new partner yet?"

Cal watched as Emily directed the last part of the question to Gillian who merely nodded and took a sip of her wine.

"What was that?" Cal asked as he looked between his daughter and his partner.

"Nothing," Emily replied innocently. Too innocently. "It's just… Bobby is a very… attractive man."

Cal glanced back at Gillian who was biting the side of her cheek, trying hard not to smile at Emily.

"Wha? Ugh… But —" Cal was at a loss.

"Start with one word, then build on that," Gillian stated smartly which earned her a look of irritation from Cal.

"He's old enough to be your father!"

For being unrelated, it was remarkable that both Gillian and Emily gave him the same exact expression at the same time — an eye roll coupled with an exasperated head tilt to the right. Maybe it was woman code. That should be the title of his next book.

"Dad! All I'm saying is that he's good looking, chill out," she rose from the table and headed to the fridge to scavenge for a soda. "Although… I didn't notice a wedding ring, so he _is _single."

Emily plopped in her seat and looked pointedly at Gillian. Cal took another piece of Gillian's naan, chewing ferociously as he tried to figure out how to silence his daughter for eternity without leaving a trace of evidence.

"This is awkward," Gillian started quietly as she glanced at Cal who was giving her no help whatsoever, completely absorbed by his daughter's antics. "Do you know where Bobby used to work?"

"Yeah, Boston. He used to have his own practice, then he built it up over a few years and it expanded to… I can't remember all the names. Something like," Emily raised her hand in the air, forming the names in an invisible arc, "Donnell, Young, Dole and Frutt."

"Wow, you remember all that," Gillian replied, a nervous edge in her voice. "My uh, my cousin, she was the _Dole_. She and Bobby used to be married and had a son together."

"Oh," Emily's face flushed, clearly feeling ten types of embarrassed. Then she picked up on one phrase and forged ahead in true Lightman fashion. "_Used to_? So they aren't married anymore?"

Gillian glanced in her lap then up at Emily, shaking her head. "No, not anymore."

Cal could tell Emily was aching to know what went wrong, as was he, but Gillian remained stubbornly silent. Finally, Cal decided that he should intervene.

"Lovely," he stated as he slapped his hands together and stood. "I bet Foster would love to bore you with tales of someone else's marriage, but we've both got work to do, and I'm pretty sure your mum wanted you to call her when you got home tonight… So, off with ya."

Cal reached over and grabbed her plate as she was impaling a meatball with her fork. Emily scowled indignantly, "Hey! I'm not even done yet! At least give me the garlic bread."

"My pleasure," he tossed her the slices as he boxed up the rest. "It ensures that you won't be sneaking out later."

"What?"

"I think what your father is implying is that garlic breath isn't too pleasing," said Gillian as she rose and handed Cal the rest of the take-away boxes.

"Hmph," Emily replied as she took a rather large bite of her bread, making a show of chewing it for the two adults.

"At least she _chews_ her bread," Gillian murmured. Cal shot her an irritated look and pulled out his brief case, dropping it loudly on his chair. Emily grabbed her soda and her purse, waving goodbye to Gillian as she took her leave.

"All right then, let's get to work," Cal stated as he pulled out three thick manila folders. He could feel Gillian watching him from her position against the counter and wondered if she was going to share her thoughts.

"What do you already know? About Bobby and Lindsay?"

Cal glanced up at Gillian as she slid into her seat and crossed her legs. Her face was blank, not on purpose, but because she was simply curious.

"From the whisperings of Loker 'n Torres, I gather that your cousin was a smarty pants, just like you, went to some awful law school, Harvard something or other. She was a hot-shot attorney, then won some questionable cases on technicalities and some bad guys went free," Cal took a sip of his wine and watched her tense slightly. Ah, so he was getting to the good part.

"Donnell's firm associated with some… unsavory characters and several of them took a liking to her. She was stabbed by a client, right? And that was before she and Donnell got married. So she already had one strike against her. Then Donnell had a client in particular that intended to do her harm, but she shot and killed him, if I recall correctly," Cal glanced at Gillian, who's gaze was fixed on the wine in his glass. She seemed to be running through the events in her head.

"I bet she went a little nutty after that, but ended up dodging jail because of some other technicality. She split from the firm, and shortly afterward she and Donnell split up as well. Then Donnell lost it somewhere along the way and left his own firm with the other partners... Anything else to add, or can we get on with work?"

By the end, Gillian propped her elbows on the table and clasped her hands together. It was her version of calm defense. Once she crossed her arms, he'd have to back peddle rapidly. Cal learned early on in their working relationship that Gillian Foster was similar to an oyster. Not a clam, but the type of mollusk that held on to few treasures and when she felt tampered with, she would shut up tight regardless of his attempts to assuage her fears.

Was Cal helplessly intrigued by Gillian's past? _Without a doubt._ Did he wonder how one cousin became this target for misfortune, while the other led a comparatively calm existence? _Of course_. But was it within his bounds as a friend and work partner to invade her personal life in such a fashion? _Doubtful_, but he'd do his best to change that.

Gillian deliberated for a moment, then shrugged, seeming to accept his summary of the more scandalous life of her cousin. There was something else there, something he'd missed in his account, but she wasn't going to correct him. For the most part, he knew she'd just wanted to clear the air and gauge how much he knew. Feigned nonchalance was the best approach at this point.

"You're okay with all this?" she asked. "Bobby working with Zoe?"

"I had a… discussion with Zoe the other night," Cal ignored Gillian's eye roll at his use of _discussion_, "and she firmly reminded me that I have no say over whom she chooses to work with, just as she has no say over my colleagues."

"Do you think this is payback?" Gillian asked as she ran her finger along the brim of the glass. "It's no secret that she's never approved of our working relationship."

"Her insecurity has no bearing on how I carry out my business." They both knew that it really did, because Zoe's insecurity nearly broke up their business, years ago.

"What about _your_ insecurity?" Gillian asked softly, her eyes flickering up to his. "You must also know that Bobby has a… reputation."

Cal fought hard not to look away, to assure her that he was not in any way worried, despite the fact that he truly was. The subtle lift of her eyebrow told him that he didn't fool her, so he shrugged and took large gulp of his wine.

"Then I can only hope that they can remain as professional as we have over the years and to keep business strictly that."

Shaking her head, Gillian gave him a bemused grin, knowing full and well that he had no faith whatsoever in Zoe and Bobby remaining professional. Not only that, but Cal and Gillian's relationship had rarely, if ever, been conventional. Half the time, he hardly knew where he stood with Gillian, and that was on a good day.

Cal felt the poke of Gillian's pen in his forearm and he glanced over at her wryly, "must you always poke me?"

"If that's what it takes to get your attention," she replied. "C'mon, I want to get this over with."

"And then what?" Cal asked as he pulled a file from the stack.

"One thing at a time, Cal," she whispered as she pulled out her laptop. "One thing at a time."

.::.::.

A/N: Not a lot happened in this chap, just necessary exposition, but the next is a bit more cumbersome. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: The Lies We Tell (4/?)  
Pairing: gen, possible C/G  
Rating: K  
Category: Suspense/Drama, dash of angst  
Disclaimer: The LtM characters are not mine, DEK owns Bobby. HT is mine.  
Summary: When Zoe brings a new case and a new partner to the Lightman Group, long-buried truths will be revealed as they work to defend an innocent man, while a side investigation may place one partner in mortal peril.  
A/N: No beta, all mistakes are mine. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

.::.::.

Gillian unlocked her front door and shut it behind her, breathing out slowly. It was late, just past one. Somewhere after eleven she and Cal had discarded their files and gotten into a discussion about one of her PTSD side projects. They then focused on Loker and what they'd do when he finally received his doctorate. Throughout, Cal made a couple subtle attempts to prod her about what was truly bothering her, but she wouldn't budge, mainly because she herself hadn't acknowledged the problem.

This case had the potential to get very complicated. All the players involved were enough to send Gillian packing. The more concerning part was the client himself. Just the sound of his voice sent off little alarm bells in her head, though she couldn't quite determine why. Cal promised that they wouldn't take the case if the client proved to be guilty. But she couldn't see past the fact that the client participated in human trafficking. That alone repulsed her. She felt that he deserved to go to prison, whether he committed the murder or not.

Then again, it left the guilty man free to roam and possibly kill again. Maybe _he_ was the one in charge of the whole business and the client was a pawn in the whole ordeal. Just thinking about all the possibilities made her vision blur. She'd been working so hard lately without a decent break. If they took this case, it would be pushing her and the others past full capacity, and she wasn't sure she could bear the strain much longer.

The other issue that dwelled in the back of her mind, was that the client was Belgian. If he'd committed petty crime in America, odds were he'd done the same in his country. She needed to get as much information as she could before they interviewed him Monday afternoon. While Cal was excellent at thinking on his feet, Gillian worked a bit differently in her preparation for dealing with certain clients. Something about this man begged to be given special treatment; similar to the way she prepared to meet Cal the first time.

Gillian wandered throughout her home, starting her dishwasher, dropping some files in her office, then readied for bed. As she washed her face, she tried her very hardest to ignore the other part of her mind that was clamoring for attention. The part she'd been ignoring since Monday. The part of her mind that loved in French, dreamed in Technicolor, and still believed in happy endings. The part of her mind that was linked to a deep, locked away part of her heart.

But despite her best attempts to keep it all tucked away, an unbidden memory shuttled to the forefront of her mind as she flossed her teeth:

_Brussels, late Saturday morning. Her still shapeless twenty-year old self was pulling out a length of floss. A shadow cast over her shoulder caused her to look up in the mirror and smile shyly, ignoring the fleeting sensation of anxiety._

"_I like this." he murmured in French as they stood shoulder to shoulder in his too small bathroom, him bare-chested and her clad only in his Ramones t-shirt._

"_Like what?" she asked as she continued flossing her teeth, watching as he applied toothpaste to his toothbrush._

"_Us. Getting ready in the morning. It's… nice," he said to her reflection, his one sided-grin affording her the perfect view of his dimple. _

_She smiled back, then replied, "Don't get used to it. You know I have to head back to school tomorrow."_

"_Yes, but then we have next weekend and the weekend after that and the weekend after that…" She grinned at the hope in his garbled words as he continued to brush his teeth._

"_So this wasn't just a one-time thing then?" she asked curiously, watching his reflection closely._

"_Would I have worked so hard over the past few months, becoming your friend, earning your trust, just to make this a one-time thing?"_

_Dropping her floss in the trashcan, she picked up her toothbrush and turned to face him, pointing it like a spear. "You never answered my question."_

_She watched as he ducked his head to spit, then continued brushing his teeth as he kept his gaze fixed on the sink. What was he hiding?_

"_Maybe I'm not answering because I don't want to scare you away," he whispered, his eyes darting around nervously._

"_Scare me?" she asked, genuinely confused. "Henri, how would you scare me?"_

_He took a moment to rinse out his mouth and place his toothbrush in its holder. When he turned to face her, his anxiety was gone, replaced with the ever-present mischief in his dark brown eyes. _

"_I can't answer that question until you return… next weekend."_

Gillian blinked hard, glancing at the empty space to her right and frowning when it was empty. She hadn't thought about that day in twenty years. Had it really been that long? Forcing the memory aside, she brushed her teeth and shut off all the lights.

Only after she'd climbed into bed and felt the heavy silence of night settle over her, did she finally acknowledge what had been bothering her all along. The Belgian client, Bobby, Lindsay… they all reminded her of several unrelated things. In all honesty though, the real problem was the one person that kept resurfacing in her mind.

_Henri Toussaint_.

They met during the year she spent abroad studying in France. Born of a French mother and Belgian father, Henri was more a prankster with a penchant for getting into trouble — not really her type. Fiercely intelligent, he had an easy laugh and this effortless charm that made it hard to dislike him. He was the best friend of her roommate's boyfriend, constantly hanging around. For reasons still unknown to her, he'd taken an interest and though she was hesitant, they became good friends. One night months later, a bottle of wine and whispered confessions on a rooftop changed their friendship to that of lovers.

They'd been inseparable. Then life happened.

Gillian halted the train of thought before it continued. She didn't care to think much about that time of her life; it still managed to be painful, all these years later. Regardless of how those particular years shaped her and her profession, Gillian didn't want to relieve them.

She and Henri had exchanged phone calls every so often. The last time they'd spoken, she'd called to inform him she was marrying Alec. They had a couple mutual friends who passed along the sporadic piece of information, but that was the extent of it.

Interestingly enough, Henri with all his youthful misconduct now worked for the Criminal Investigation Police in Brussels. It was akin to the FBI. The reason the thought of him had been bugging her lately was that she knew she needed to contact him to get information about this client.

It's just that she actually had to speak with Henri in order to get the information.

Gillian knew that once she opened up the door for communication, her world could possibly turn upside down. If there was ever a weak spot in her life besides Cal — it was Henri. He still had a part of her heart that no one would ever be able to touch. He could also inflict quite a bit of damage without ever intending to. Hunkering down in her bed and turning on her side, Gillian ignored the faint glow of her bedside clock, wishing that she could pull away from the entire situation.

Forty minutes later and sleep still eluded Gillian, much to her dismay. It was like her conscience was jumping up and down in her brain, celebrating her acknowledgment of the issue. Now, she needed to take the next step and make the call, despite the potential fallout.

Sighing loudly, Gillian sat up in bed, hating what she was about to do. She padded barefoot into the kitchen and pulled out her little black book of phone numbers. Glancing at the clock, she knew he was six hours ahead — well into breakfast time for him. Her finger skidded to a halt on Henri's last name and for a moment, Gillian was pretty sure that her heart might beat out of her chest.

Her cordless phone was clutched tightly in her hands, waiting patiently for its keys to be pressed. Instead, Gillian set down the phone and retrieved a bottle of scotch. She drank two fingerfuls then picked up the phone again, this time not hesitating as she dialed the number.

It rang three times then thankfully went to voicemail. Gillian's heart resumed its typical rhythm as she began speaking in French.

"Hello, Henri. It's Gillian…"

.::.

Jean Le Fort.

Their new client. He hailed from a small town outside Liege, Belgium. His father was ex-military, mother was a seamstress. Le Fort's parents worked hard to provide him with a solid education. Le Fort attended University in pursuit of a degree in business. He never married, and appeared to work the business end of things for the shipping company Douvert & Sons, which transported textiles. The company relocated him to America in 2004, where he became a branch manager.

All this was according to the file provided by his lawyers, whom Gillian assumed to believe most the information it contained.

Problem was, the information was false. See, Jean Le Fort? He didn't exist. In America perhaps, but not in Belgium.

.::.

Monday morning and Gillian was a pile of nerves. She hadn't felt this way since she met Cal for the first time. Those first meetings were like an extended game of poker, and had been so carefully orchestrated on her part. Little did Cal know, but she spent a solid twenty minutes after he left her office, sitting in her chair, shaking. It was a combination of fear, anxiety, and hope. She likened her inner self to that of a locker room on championship night.

Rarely did she employ this technique of character study. It was time-consuming, fully involved, and tended to render her useless for the rest of the day. Considering she had little use for it anymore, she never felt the need to prepare in such a fashion.

But Saturday had brought about a most abrupt change in her plans when she finally got around to listening to the discs that Cal passed along from Zoe. The majority were boring and harmless. Only a minute segment on one or two of the discs actually did anything to send her inner psychologist whirling.

She'd been so caught up in the discs and reviewing the client's file that she hadn't even hesitated when she picked up her ringing phone. The voice on the other end, so deep and soft and familiar, nearly made her breath seize up in her chest.

Henri had been polite and to the point, clearly observing her intention of the call. He'd informed her that the man for whom she was searching had died during World War II in the Bastogne region and that she must be mistaken.

"How about I send you an email of the information we have on him and his picture. Do you have facial analysis software?"

His gentle laugh on the other end made her feel acutely ashamed. "Yes, we managed to update from the dark ages, even in Belgium. I'm at the office now, so if you shoot it over, I can get the system running."

"Sure, that'd be great," she replied evenly, hoping he couldn't detect her nervousness. "I'll send it over in five minutes. Thanks for helping me out."

"My pleasure," he replied succinctly. "I'll call you if I have any problems."

After he ended the call, she didn't hear anything from him for several hours. It gave her ample time to reflect on his words, how abrupt and cold he sounded. Maybe this could be entirely professional, after all.

Just before going to bed, Henri returned her call, sounding much more fatigued than he had earlier in the day. "Did I wake you?"

"No, I was just getting ready for bed. You aren't _still_ awake, are you?"

"I was with my partner. We just broke a case and were out celebrating. I wanted to let you know that we got a hit off the database. Le Fort is definitely not who he seems."

Gillian sat up in bed, much more alert than she was a moment ago. "What do you mean?"

"His real name is Martin Thomas. You know what I think about first name first name people."

"They must be up to something because they're compensating for no real last name?" Gillian felt herself grin at the memory.

"Exactly. Even worse, he's from Charleroi. Their football team is awful. Anyway, I'm heading home now, but I can send along a file for you to look over in the morning."

"Wait, he has a police record?"

"A colorful one at that," Henri replied. Someone murmured something in the background, it sounded like a woman's voice. Gillian tried not to roll her eyes. "Listen, I've got to go. I'll call you tomorrow afternoon."

"Sure. Night." Gillian ended the call, her attention torn between Henri and her mystery client. She went the easier route and focused her attention on the client. Sleep evaded her well into the early hours of the morning as she pondered.

On Sunday she reviewed the discs again, taking notes, jotting down shipment schedules, business partners, possible contacts. She also transcribed the minutes that drew most her attention, the ones dealing with the possible trafficking of young women. Nothing was solid, yet, but she was certainly forming an opinion of their client and it wasn't positive.

When she finally worked up the nerve to review Henri's file, she felt underwhelmed by its contents. Le Fort, or _Thomas_, had committed no serious crimes, a couple speeding transgressions, the occasional parking ticket, and one domestic dispute. Otherwise, there was nothing that stood out.

Then Gillian clicked on an attachment and discovered what Henri must have been referring to. In 2002, Martin Thomas was questioned in a case involving the disappearance of several women, all young, all brunette, all later found to be mutilated beyond recognition. He was cleared relatively early on in the investigation due to forensic evidence, but the inspector made a note in the report that something wasn't quite right about Thomas.

Gillian reviewed the transcript of the interview and found herself agreeing with the inspector. Every reply was carefully phrased, nothing was out of place, and it all seemed very… measured. She wondered if the interview had been recorded and made a note to ask Henri later.

As the day wore on, she took a break and went grocery shopping and stopped to pick up some coffee on the way home. Once she put away all her groceries, she found that the anxiety hadn't dissipated any. It was all a jumble too. A lot of it surrounded the new information she'd unearthed, but there was also some directed at Henri. She knew that if she tried to tease out which was which, sooner or later, Cal would realize something wasn't quite right. He was the last person that needed to know about Henri.

As if on cue, her cell rang.

"Did you get a chance to go over the email?"

"Hello to you too." Gillian replied as she walked to her fridge and surveyed its contents. She bypassed the nonfat yogurt and went straight to the chocolate pudding.

"Sorry, I've been up to my eyeballs in paperwork," came Henri's haggard reply. "The only thing worse than filling it all out is doing it with a hangover."

"Sounds like you do this often."

"Breaking cases, yes. Drinking, hardly." She heard him shut what sounded like a car door. "So, can I help you with anything else, or is this it?"

Gillian hesitated before replying. His words were hopeful and distant — like he wanted nothing more than to cut all ties, but his tone was the complete opposite.

"Actually, I was wondering if the interviews with the serial murders was recorded. I'd like to take a look at the tape with Thomas."

"It should be. I'm heading in as we speak, so if you give me a minute I can check to see what's on our network."

"I think I can manage," Gillian replied smartly as she opened her pudding and took a bite.

"What are you eating?"

"Pudding."

"You _still_ eat pudding?"

"What's wrong with that? It's good!"

"I know, I'm the one who introduced you to its wonders," he said as a bell dinged. Elevator time. "Remember that night you and Colette made me and Luc dinner and dessert was supposed to be chocolate mousse, but it was really just pudding with whipped cream?"

"Hey, I'll have you know that I _still_ make chocolate mousse that way," Gillian replied pragmatically.

"I bet you still eat dessert for breakfast too."

Gillian narrowed her eyes, but didn't reply. As she always said, people never change.

"Okay, let's see. What year was it? 2002? Spring, 2002…" she heard the clatter of him typing on computer keys as he hunted up the file. "You are one lucky woman, we'd just started cataloging videos the beginning of that year. I have two separate interviews each about forty-five minutes long. How would you like them?"

Gillian hesitated, realizing that she must be breaching some law somewhere. "Are you sure you aren't going to get in trouble for this? Sending me all this information, actually?"

"Well, as we already established, Martin Thomas no longer exists in my country, and in your country, he's a suspect for murder. Let's see how this plays out before we send up any flares."

"Still throwing the rulebook out the window, I see."

"And I bet you still clutch it tightly to your side."

"Touché." Gillian ignored the twinge of anger. "How long before I can get the interviews?"

"I'm converting them now, so about an hour," Henri let out a long sigh. She imagined he was leaning back in some uncomfortable office chair, staring at a screen with fuzzy eyes. "Why are you even looking into this?"

"My company picked up a new case and Martin Thomas… Le Fort is our client. We're trying to establish his innocence in the murder."

"And you took it upon your own initiative to go back to when he lived in Belgium?"

Henri was fishing, trying to figure out if that was really why she'd called in the first place. At this point in time, she still swore to herself that she initiated contact for the sole purpose of this investigation.

"Haven't met him yet, but I've listened to his voice. Something didn't sound quite right."

She heard him laugh and she frowned for a moment, afraid he was mocking her.

"You always did have good instincts about that kind of stuff," he said quietly. "I thought you were a psychologist. When did you start doing all this lie detection business?"

Over the next hour, Gillian found herself recounting the last few years of her life, touching on her career, past and present. Nothing too invasive, just idle chatter mostly. Henri relayed his advancement over the years to where now he led his own small team with three other members.

When the files completed their download, she felt the sudden desire to get off the phone, feeling a little bit of her firmly held resolve crumble as they fell into easy banter. Everything with Henri had been easy. Until… until it wasn't anymore.

"Okay, I've got the files," she stood and stretched, feeling the pull of every stiff muscle. "I'm going to get started reviewing these so I'll be ready for our interview tomorrow."

"Ever the prepared one."

"Don't mock."

"Not mocking, just stating fact," he replied sensibly. "I'll see if there are any lose ends with that case tomorrow and give you a call if I find anything. Sound good?"

"Sure," she stated smoothly. "And Henri? Thank you."

She meant more than just a simple thank you in those words and by his hesitation, she knew he understood.

"Anytime, Gill. Anytime."

Of course, when she reviewed the enlightening and mildly unsettling interviews, she found herself so engrossed that she didn't realize how late it had gotten. Gillian reviewed the footage once more before bed, feeling pretty certain she knew how to approach their client. As long as she could keep him distracted, she could get the read she needed to confirm thoughts she wasn't fully ready to verbalize.

Though, for all intents and purposes, all she knew was that his name was Jean Le Fort, a shipping manager for Douvert & Sons, murder suspect.

.::.

Now it was Monday afternoon and she was a tense ball of nerves, waiting to get this over with. She'd tried her best to get a hold of Cal most of the day, but he'd been at the Pentagon, meeting with a General. If only Cal knew that over the past 48 hours this case had gone from something she didn't want to touch, to consuming her mind. Gillian would simply have to speak with him about everything after the interview. It wasn't like he'd never done the same to her.

Taking a calming breath, she opened the folder and ran through her notes a couple more times. She'd always been a quick learner — her perceptiveness working in her favor more often than not. Gillian badly wanted Le Fort to be innocent, for him to come off as unassuming and a slightly guilt-ridden. What she didn't want was to sense that darkness in him, that insidious depravity that lived in the shadows of the heart.

"Foster?" Torres leaned in through the doorway. "Zoe is here with her client. Lightman is getting him set up in the cube."

"Great. Tell Lightman I'll be there in a few minutes." Gillian stacked her notes quickly. "Please remind him that he doesn't get to have all the fun without me."

Torres nodded, unfazed by whatever message Foster was actually sending along to Lightman.

Gillian ran her fingers through her hair and applied some rouge — not too much— just a faint layer. Dabbing the slightest bit of Chanel on her wrists and behind her ears, she ignored the furious thump of her heart. If she was right about this man, and she usually was, he liked his women a particular way. In order to get the baseline she wanted, she needed to appeal his more subconscious desires, manipulating the conditions to get a solid read. Cal could go for the jugular, but Gillian wanted something a little different from Le Fort.

She was after his soul.

.::.::.

A/N: What did I say? I warned you that this wouldn't go the direction that you were thinking. All of you up in arms about Henri probably should be. He will be awesome, but C/G are always endgame in my book. Haters to the left.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: The Lies We Tell (5/?)

Pairing: gen, possible C/G

Rating: K

Disclaimer: The LtM characters are not mine, Bobby is DEK. Le Fort and Henri are mine.

Summary: When Zoe brings a new case and a new partner to the Lightman Group, long-buried truths will be revealed as they work to defend an innocent man, while a side investigation may place one partner in mortal peril.

A/N: I'm not sure if this chapter will make much sense without the next one, but I hope it's readable nonetheless. This is what happens when you opt not to have a beta. If any of you are fans of providing concrit, I gladly welcome it. Thanks for reading!

.::..::.

Walking into the lab, Gillian and Zoe exchanged civil smiles as she stopped behind Loker to get a good look at their client. Le Fort was in his mid forties, well-built, with salt-and-pepper hair and grey eyes. The frameless glasses certainly lent a bit of innocence to the whole picture. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he looked just like her neighbor who was running for mayor — very wholesome.

Then she walked closer to the cube and took a better look, studying his posture and body language. He sat straight with his legs firmly planted on the ground, and his hands resting casually on his thighs. He was an athlete, but she couldn't narrow down what sport until she got a closer look.

Bobby walked in and nodded at her then took a seat next to Zoe, leaning over to whisper something in her ear. Zoe replied just as quietly then sat back up, wanting to give Cal her full attention as he got a baseline on their client.

"Do you have the language interpreter set up?" Gillian asked Loker.

"Yup, it's good to go. I gave it a British voice. Makes things sound more official." Loker smirked as he glanced up at her, his gaze lingering. He was trying to discern something from her posture, but she merely shook her head and turned her attention back to the cube.

Cal turned and looked towards them and Gillian took that as her cue to go in. Walking around to the opposite side, she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

Now or never.

.::.

Cal wondered what was going on when Torres told him not to have all the fun without Foster, but once she entered he knew two things immediately: one) this was not Foster, this was _Gillian en Français;_ two) she looked ridiculously good today in a form fitting blue dress that made her eyes pop.

Then he realized this wasn't to be a simple interview. As she passed him to take a seat at the end of the table, she gave him a small mischievous grin. Foster was moving differently. Less of her graceful sway and more of a timid, straightforward stride — still fluid, still lovely; just not her. As she eased into her chair he caught her scent. Even that was different.

What on earth was she up to? All they were supposed to do was give Le Fort a once over. Here she was, bringing out her own personal S.W.A.T. team. Foster must have discovered something over the weekend. No wonder she'd called him three times today. In any case, this would be fun. Foster didn't put this show on for just anyone, so she damn well better have a good reason for it.

Resuming his scrutiny of Le Fort, he watched the other man size up his partner, the way his hands quickly balled into fists, then released into a flat palm once again.

"That's Foster, don't mind her, she's just here for looks," Cal said offhandedly just as she was crossing her lovely leg. Cal received her mildly exasperated glance before she turned and introduced herself in French.

"Nice to meet you Monsieur Le Fort, I'm Gillian Foster," she said smoothly as she held out her hand. He took it with a smile and kissed her knuckles.

Over the years, Cal had heard Gillian speak French a couple times, but it was never prolonged. Her already soft voice seemed to be softer and lower and curled around words in the air. He found the prospect of listening to her voice for an extended period of time utterly titillating. Cal suddenly feared for his ability to pay attention as he watched Le Fort resume his carefree posture.

"Enchanted," Le Fort replied. "Will the rest of the interview be in French or English? I am fine with either."

"We'd prefer you continue in French," Cal replied in French, catching the flash of amusement on Foster's face. Why yes, he _had _brushed up over the weekend. What of it?

"Of course," Le Fort replied smoothly as he subtly changed his positioning to where he was turned more toward Foster. Crossing one leg over the other, he seemed to be giving her his undivided attention. No doubt he imagined that his charm would get him far. Cal almost felt bad for the idiot.

"Can you tell us a little about yourself?" she asked quietly. This innocent, shy Foster was entertaining. He'd have to pester her about it later.

"As you know, I am from Belgium, just outside Liege," he stated as he pushed his glasses up his nose. _Lie_. "I came to the United States about six years ago and was naturalized in 2008."

Gillian nodded as he spoke, only glancing briefly at Cal who also caught his lies. "And what do you do for a living?"

Le Fort smiled, a flash of contempt before he spoke, "I work in the trade industry. For a short while it was textiles, but my company has recently expanded."

"_Your_ company? I thought you were employed by Douvert & Sons." Her tone was light and curious, but Cal fought hard not to smile as she caught Le Fort's slip. Sharp as a tack, his Foster.

"Yes," he shook his head_ no_. "That's the company that I work for, I used to be on the shipping end of the business, but now I work in receiving."

"I understand," she replied warmly. Cal watched as Foster lulled Le Fort's pulse back to normal. She took her time asking questions, obviously watching for the same things. Because Le Fort was so active, his musculature did little to hide some of the more obvious tells, like muscle tension and a bounding pulse. Pity for him.

"And your family? Do you have any?"

"My parents are deceased." Oh, look there. _The truth_. Marvelous.

"Anyone else? A…wife or girlfriend perhaps?" she leaned an elbow on the table as she asked this, but no closer. Cal watched as the 'V' of her dress revealed the slightest hint of more cleavage. Le Fort's eyes only dropped for a moment.

Still, Le Fort seemed to catch her true meaning and gave her a cool grin, shaking his head, "No, I've never been married… I'm not one for relationships."

Le Fort's eyes fell to her moist lips then worked up to her eyes as she nodded in understanding. Cal felt Gillian look at him pointedly then back to Le Fort.

"Not all of us are."

Le Fort appeared to remember that Cal was still in the room. Appraising Cal once again with his cool grey eyes, his face remained blank. It was almost as if Le Fort were trying to figure out how a guy like Cal was able to work with someone like Foster. Cal simply shrugged with a held tilt to Foster. He hadn't a clue either.

When Le Fort returned his gaze to Foster, there was a slight tug at his eyelids and an incremental furrow in his brow. Then blank. Cal glanced at Gillian again and caught the slightest hint of tightness in her shoulders, but it quickly dissipated as she took in another breath.

"We've spoken with your lawyers and they've given us a rough idea of what happened the night of the murder," Gillian said as she looked at Cal who nodded. "Would you mind telling us?" she cocked her head to the side in easy flirtation and gave him a coy smile. "Just so we can get your version of things?"

"Of course," he replied, leaning in a bit closer as well.

.::.

"What's going on? I'm so confused," Torres whispered. "It's like Foster's this entirely different person right now. Is she actually _flirting _with him?"

Bobby and Zoe were sitting just behind them, both clearly nervous that their client may do or say something incriminating. Loker glanced at Zoe, who also seemed to pick up on the change.

"What do you think?" Loker couldn't hide his amusement.

"Well, I mean it's like… shy flirting, but it's Foster. I just can't put the two together in my mind."

"In the traditional sense, it's flirting. But not the way Foster flirts," Loker said dismissively. "Not that… she's flirted with me or anything."

All he received was an exquisitely arched brow in response from Torres.

"Anyway," Loker cleared his voice. "I've only seen Foster do this once, and she had good reason. Last time was after I first started working here and I hadn't really given her much credit until then. One day, this operative was sent over by the CIA — they suspected him of being a double agent."

"And they asked for Foster? Why not Lightman?"

"Lightman actually referred the guy to Foster because he thought something else was going on. Turns out the guy had undergone some seriously whacked out training for long-term undercover work and it messed with his head. Foster spent some time studying him, then she went in for a couple interviews. She does it when she already has a couple diagnoses in her mind, but this _show_ helps her speed up an otherwise lengthy process. She ended up diagnosing the operative with a type of disassociative disorder."

"Like when your personality sort of splits in two? I thought that was really rare."

"It is, but his change wasn't spontaneous. It was engineered by the training he'd undergone. Foster actually helped shut down part of that program at the CIA."

"But this isn't how Foster normally works. This is all a show?"

"To be honest, I don't completely understand it either," Loker replied as he rubbed his jaw. "All I know is that every single thing she's doing is like setting a trap. From the way she just brushed her hair away from her face, to the level of her voice, to the words she's asking, it's all measured and serve a purpose. For her, it's a science because she can distract their conscious mind, while picking up the subtleties that the subconscious projects — like our microexpressions. She's done it to all of us at some time or another, even you. She's essentially playing him at his own game."

"Why is she testing him?"

Loker didn't move his head, but his eyes motioned to the pair of lawyers behind them, both of whom were paying close attention to their conversation. Loker glanced back to Torres who'd followed his gaze.

Shrugging, he replied, "don't know."

Torres' brow furrowed as she turned her attention back to the cube. Loker looked over and noticed that both Zoe and Bobby had quickly shifted their gaze, clearly eavesdropping on what he'd just told Torres.

Turning his attention back to the events in the cube, the automated voice of the interpreter just relayed Gillian asking Le Fort the events of the night of the murder.

.::.

"Of course," said Le Fort. "I'd had dinner with Simon, then we walked back to our office by the river. We'd talked about various things, a football match, I think. Then we'd started discussing how we were going to get up to Baltimore that evening because we had a late shipment arriving and one of us had to be there."

"Okay," Gillian interjected, wanting to slow him down. She was actually performing the true purpose of the interview at this point, but she was still gauging every response. If a person could give a straight testimony without interruption, it tended to lose the detail that would make it a more believable story. They'd certainly have to work on this before he testified.

"I have a couple questions, don't take them personally, but these are things that will be asked when you're on trial."

He sat a little straighter in his chair, but gave no other signs of anxiety.

Gillian asked him a series of questions, all of which served to establish some detail for later, when they would practice his testimony in English. He answered appropriately and thoughtfully, without any sign of deceit. Very similar to his responses from the Belgian interview footage she reviewed the previous evening. _Interesting. _Once they got past the perfunctory part, she noticed his carotid pulse start bounding. Finally, a bodily response.

"Now, tell us what happened after you talked about the football match," she asked evenly as she tucked her hair behind her ear. His eyes followed her hands, which seemed to be of interest to him. She fought hard not to place them in her lap.

"Actually, can we take a break? I was wondering if I could have some water," he gestured around. "The lights are quite bright."

She nodded at him then looked to Cal who was simply staring at the other man, mouth ajar.

"Oh. Me? Sure. Be right back," he stood up and gave Foster a knowing look, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the door. Without wasting any time, Le Fort resituated his chair and leaned forward on the table.

"So tell me, where did you learn to speak French so well, Gillian?"

.::.

Cal hopped around and watched this interchange through the frosted glass, walking slowly around the perimeter of the cube. He too had wondered many times how she'd learned to speak it so well.

Gillian's lips quirked upwards as she played with her pen. "Where do you think?" Still timid, yet her voice had dropped slightly, making Le Fort lean in even further. Cal knew for a fact that he was an excellent seducer, but one day, he'd love to take Foster out and see what she could do. If this interview was any indication, she might give him a run for his money.

"A family member perhaps? A grand-mother?" Cal watched Le Fort observe Gillian, his own eyes waffling between the cube's occupants like a game of chess. Gillian kept her eyes fixed downwards with a slight shrug. Le fort continued, "Summer abroad?" She flicked her gaze at him, then looked back down. "Ah… I see. A summer abroad… and perhaps a lover?"

Gillian's eyes flitted upwards and Cal simply shook his head. Of course she wouldn't be honest with this dolt. Smiling hesitantly, her hand moved to the charm around her neck and began playing with it. Cal rounded the corner and observed the lab's occupants, engrossed by the scene unraveling in the cube. It was reasonable to wonder where she learned French, but nothing Gillian was saying in there was true. Cal watched as Le Fort smiled in response, far too intrigued for the type of setting they were in. Something in his smile made Cal halt in his tracks and turn to the screen nearest him.

He didn't like the way Le Fort was looking at Foster. Up until he'd left, it had been obvious interest and arousal, but now… there was something different about it. Something dangerous. He looked again at Foster's shoulders, the way she gracefully recrossed her legs. She was getting uncomfortable, but not quite ready for him to return.

.::.

On the outside, Gillian was all false modesty and shyness, but on the inside she was approaching with trepidation. Le Fort was displaying all the signs that she was wary of, but she'd need to meet with him at least once more to be certain of her hypothesis.

Though believed to be a horrible liar, Gillian was highly skilled at something that was akin to lying: manipulating the truth. Maybe she had learned French from her grandmother, maybe she'd developed it during a year abroad, or maybe she perfected it in the bed of a Belgian man.

_Maybe_.

Maybe one or all of those was true and she wanted Le Fort to think the latter. The key was letting Le Fort think what he wanted.

Head tilting to the side, he surveyed her with even greater interest. "And where did you meet this lucky man?"

Gillian cleared her throat; ignoring the way his voice deepened and his not so subtle lean inwards. She needed to strike quickly before Cal returned and started in with the badgering.

"Charleroi," she replied smoothly, knowing it was the very city from which he actually originated. She watched his shoulder tense incrementally, and a quick flash of fear. "He was… " she glimpsed his biceps, licking her lip as she did so. "He was a football player… a defender."

Le Fort watched her closely for a few moments, and she knew she'd planted a seed of doubt in his mind. That was all it took. The rest of the show was up to Cal, because she could tell that her possible connection to his past gave Le Fort reason to reconsider everything he was doing. Before she gave much else away, she decided that playing ignorant was best.

Smiling and shrugging carelessly, she flicked her hair away from her face just as Cal re-entered, holding the glass of water. Cal gave her an odd look then glanced at the folder. He was frustrated that she hadn't shared this information before the interview. She wasn't too concerned. Turnabout's fair play.

"All right, drink up. Your lawyers said they needed to get you across town for some such meeting," Cal stated in English, watching as Le Fort downed the glass of water in two gulps. "Did you kill your friend?"

Gillian appreciated Cal's wording as she leaned back in her chair, watching Le Fort closely. Anger and fear, but no remorse, no guilt, no sadness. A lot of nothing, actually. He exhaled sharply, clenched his jaw as he shook his head.

"No."

Cal saw as much as she did, even more. He glanced at her to confirm his assessment then nodded briefly.

"Excellent. Off you go then. We'll meet with you in a few days, go over your case and make it solid."

Hesitantly and with a little confusion, Le Fort stood, sliding his chair underneath the table. Gillian and Cal stood as well, gathering their notes. Le Fort led the way out with even, assured strides, tall and confident. By the quickness of his movement, the subtle crookedness of his nose, and the calloused knuckles, she'd say he was a boxer. But, he also had the build of a soccer player. She'd wager that he probably did both, the latter for pleasure and the former out of necessity.

They met up with Bobby and Zoe in the hall, both lawyers giving her sharp looks as Le Fort turned to speak with her in French once again.

"It was a pleasure meeting you." His voice was slick, too slick. "Will you be around in a few days as well?"

She smiled again, feeling the inside of her stomach lurch. "Of course, this is where I work, after all."

"Yes, forgive me. Tell your little British friend that he needs to stop giving me the evil eye, it's impolite," Le Fort stated as he nodded in farewell then turned down the hall. Gillian smiled, ignoring the curiosity on Bobby's face before he turned to follow his client.

"I'll see you tonight?" Zoe asked Cal quietly.

Cal shook his head, "No, I'm off to the Pentagon in an hour. Idiot General seems to think I'm at his beck and call."

Zoe started walking away, her voice heavy with amusement, "I'm pretty sure you are."

Gillian fought a grin at the comment, trying to focus her attention elsewhere for a few moments. It was becoming increasingly difficult to regulate her breathing. She was far too out of practice for this type of work. Maybe she shouldn't have done this. It was certainly something Cal would be excellent at, lying coming much easier to him.

.::.

Cal rolled his eyes at Zoe and turned back with Foster, walking down the hall in silence. He assumed she'd regroup in his office, but when he reached out to touch her on the shoulder like he'd done a hundred times, she flinched at the contact. His hand dropped immediately as she turned to him, surprised with an apology at the ready.

"Sorry, I just —"

"Take your time," he said softly, watching as she continued into her darkened office and out of sight. He shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling torn and mildly affronted. Foster actually shied away from his contact. Just knowing that his touch could cause such a reaction, he wondered how she felt right now after that interview.

.::.::.::.

A/N: Alright kids, I know this chapter may not have made much sense, but when Foster and Cal regroup next chap, perhaps you'll have a better understanding. If this sucked, let me know, because my attention has been on my grad project, and my leftover brain cells are suffering. Thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

Title: The Lies We Tell (6/?)

Pairing: gen, possible C/G

Rating: K

Disclaimer: The LtM characters are not mine, a certain lawyer is the possession of DEK. HT is totally mine.

Summary: When Zoe brings a new case and a new partner to the Lightman Group, long-buried truths will be revealed as they work to defend an innocent man, while a side investigation may place one partner in mortal peril.

A/N:This chap is giant because I didn't want to separate the last segment and new chapter it. It's important to parallel these three men and how they interact with Foster. No beta, all mistakes are mine. Thanks for reading.

.::.

When Gillian used to work at the Pentagon, her clients ran the spectrum of disorders listed in the psychologist's bible: the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental disorders. She'd seen pretty much everything, and what she hadn't seen there, she certainly got to experience in her work with Cal.

On this occasion, in her calm office on a bright Autumn day, she felt almost a tunnel effect occurring. There was a clip of a conversation with an undercover agent that kept playing over and over in her head:

_It's the first twenty-four hours that are the worst. Everything within you is fighting the constant lie that you're trying to reinforce, the person you're pretending to be. It's like your mind is battling itself and it takes a toll on the entire body. Because somewhere deep down, you know that you're going to give in and lose part of yourself to some greater cause that you've already forgotten._

All she'd had to do was an hour and her knees were shaking. Clearly, she would have failed at undercover work. Gillian was well aware of her boundaries and knew that as many times as she employed this technique, the result was always the same. Utter exhaustion and grasping at the frayed ends of theories. Still, despite futile hope of the contrary, her instincts were almost always correct.

Her shoes were flicked off her feet, knees hugged against her chest, and her head was resting on the back of her couch. Her breathing had regulated finally, but her mind was trying to process and organize what just happened.

Yesterday, when she'd watched the interviews, there had been three interviewers total. One man and two women. Of the women, one was tall, leggy, and very… she was very aware of her sexual appeal and used it to great effect. Le Fort, or _Martin_, barely reacted to her. The other female was lithe and calm and timid. He'd taken a particular interest in her, subtle as it was. Throughout the interview, he'd been cool and collected, even when shown the gory crime scene photos. The absence of a reaction was what caught her attention.

After that, she started to look for other cues that provided plausible explanations to his behavior. Today's interview had her leaning more heavily in favor of one theory over the other.

On one hand, he could be someone who simply had a tendency toward being the dominant in a dominant-submissive relationship. Though it could be argued that all relationships followed in this vein, there were some whose entire personality was wired in such a fashion and sought to be the dominant in all facets of life. It went a step further than simply being the alpha. Not that these people were prone to violence or abuse, but they certainly had authority issues.

On the other hand, and this was the possibility that she was afraid of, was that Le Fort was a sociopath. Sociopaths and psychopaths fell under the category of antisocial personality disorder. These terms that were tossed about so lightly on television gave the layman the incorrect understanding that one could have a five-minute conversation in a darkened interrogation room and just _know_. But in the clinical world, such labels were not bestowed lightly, for coming to a diagnosis was often extremely difficult due to the nature of the disorder.

Gillian didn't have months to diagnose this man. She barely had three weeks; hence the reasoning behind her approach to this interview. She had to manufacture certain situations that would elicit the desired reaction. Unfortunately, it was still too early to tell.

She'd have to talk with Cal to get his read on Le Fort to get any sort of direction. The prospect of actually leaving the serene confines of her office was still a bit daunting at the moment. Gillian rallied her inner reserve; knowing that he'd have to leave soon. She needed to ensure that they'd keep this case.

Standing, she took a steadying breath and ran her fingers through her hair then slipped on her shoes. Gillian cringed when she recalled the way she'd flinched when Cal touched her, but it hadn't been personal. He had to know that. It was simply that her body felt like it was about to vibrate out of her skin and he'd startled her.

The concern on his face worried Gillian, but she knew he'd understand. It wasn't often that she dabbled in this territory and for that she was thankful. She figured Cal must be immune to the adrenaline rush one received after such a feat.

Gillian picked up the file she'd tossed in the chair then headed over to Cal's office, her heels glancing sharply off the concrete flooring.

.::.

"Appears you had an enlightening weekend," Cal observed as Foster took a seat across from him at his desk.

She was the appearance of calm and fortitude — picture perfect Foster. Only the tightness in her posture gave her away. He had no idea how she did that, slipping so easily out of one skin and into another. Cal could put on a front, sure. But completely have the continual affect of a different person? He left that to the professionals.

"You could say that," she tapped the top of her folder with her fingers. He nodded toward it expectantly.

"What am I going to find in there?"

"Excellent reading, I assure you," she said with a smirk. Leaning forward, she handed it over, once again giving him a prize view of her cleavage.

"Hey," she snapped, his eyes following her her hand. "Up here."

Cal merely grinned impishly and opened the file, his eyebrows darting upward at its contents.

"How did you get a hold of all this?" he asked as he continued to scan her notes and the police reports. Cal found it funny that her notes went back and forth between French and English. He bet she sometimes dreamt in French too.

"Oh, you know. I've got friends in high places," she said offhandedly. He glanced up at her, narrowing his eyes.

"Your _Belgian lover_ perhaps?" Cal probed mockingly as he watched her reaction. The corner over her lip pulled upwards slowly, her eye crinkling as she shook her head. From the ease of her response, he had little to worry about.

"_Possibly_," she replied wryly. Cal couldn't tell if she was being serious and perhaps that was her intention. He found that he was having more difficulty reading her as of late. _Were they too close_? Though, in his defense, he was a bit preoccupied with Zoe and that Donnell guy.

Gillian's eyes darted to the paper he was holding and opened wider. "Make sure you look at the bottom of that page."

Cal wanted to press her further about her source, but he took her deflection… for the time being. Besides, he was far more intrigued by her interest in the client.

"Okay, Foster. You've got me hook, line, and sinker. Le Fort, or should I say, _Martin_ is a fraud, true enough, but what does that have to do with the show in there? Were you trying to diagnose him in one go? That was a bit ambitious, don't you think?"

"I just wanted to narrow down the possibilities."

He watched her for a minute, seeing the excitement in her eyes and the tension in her brow. So little of what she did these days had to do with her actual calling. Perhaps there was a piece of her that wanted to follow this through if only for the sake of reviving her former self.

"Which are?"

"He's either a sociopath or just a dominant personality looking for a submissive."

Eyebrows darting upwards, he didn't bother hiding his surprise. He didn't buy it. If this guy was a sociopath, he'd have shown more blatant disregard for others during that interview. Hard to hide that for an hour.

As if reading his thoughts, Gillian stated, "he could have needed his _friend_ to accomplish his other goals. The sadness he exhibited could be due to completely different reasons other than his friend's death."

"Fair enough," Cal nodded as he propped his head on his fist and spun his chair sideways. Cal's mind flashed to all the reactions she'd elicited from Le Fort: the clenched fist, the lack of remorse, the almost wooden expressions and measured responses, the obvious interest in his reserved partner. He could see her quandary. A dominant was one thing. But a sociopath? Whole other ballgame.

"Martin has no criminal record, no signs of violence… arson… animal cruelty," Cal muttered as he turned through the pages. "I guess it's not completely out of the realm of possibility that he's a sociopath… a really smart one."

"Intelligence level would explain the lack of record. Plus, the line of work he's in and the possibility that he's bringing all these young women into the country? No one would be the wiser if he took one and did what he wanted with them." Gillian added as she mirrored him by propping her elbow on the arm of the chair. They both contemplated for a few moments in silence.

"We still don't have actual proof that there was any trafficking, Foster," Cal replied, playing devil's advocate.

"Not _yet."_ Foster brushed her hair out of her face, but it was still in that unfamiliar way. Cal tucked that away for later. Perhaps nothing was as it seemed today.

"Well, what do you want to do then?" Cal asked as he shut the folder, surveying his partner closely. "Clearly we can't tell Zoe and Donnell."

"I guess wait until our next meeting, see if we can get anything else out of him," she uncrossed her legs and smoothed down her skirt. "It's not the easiest diagnosis to make."

"And what if he turns out to be a sociopath? Can you handle that?"

There was a flash of fear and doubt, but then firm resolve as she shrugged. "I'm more concerned about all the time he'll be spending with Zoe. Can _you _handle that?"

Cal frowned as they both stood. He pulled on his coat and rounded his desk, both of them walking out of his office. All he could picture was the way Le Fort looked at Foster, the predatory gleam in his eye that sent a tingle down his spine. Cal's jaw clenched and he fought hard not to lock her in the safety of his office.

"It's not her I'm worried about."

Gillian eyebrows shot upwards in surprise as she discerned his meaning. "Me? Why me?"

"It was you he was lookin' at, Foster." Cal turned away from her sharply before she could see the concern in his eyes. "You already know how I feel about that."

"Cal, I hate to break it to you, but I don't need protecting. It's bad enough that you don't even think this is worth it." He didn't even need to look to know that she'd stopped in her tracks and planted her hands stubbornly on her hips. "But Cal, it_ is_ worth it!"

Shaking his head, Cal pushed open the door, muttering under his breath, "We'll see about that."

.::.

The following day, everything was at the status quo, Torres was off with Cal at the Pentagon, Gillian and Loker going from one meeting to the next. It was busy, but all their toil was proving to be beneficial for the company.

"I'm dead," Loker stated as he sat across from Gillian in the break room. It was past four and neither of them had a chance to get lunch earlier.

"Looks to me like you have a nice pulse there," Gillian smirked at him as she took a bite of her yogurt. Despite spending the entire day together, Loker hadn't left her side. He was probably up to something, but she couldn't find it within her to care.

"Ha," he narrowed his eyes at her playfully. "So are you ever going to tell us what you were up to yesterday, or are you going to make me work for it?"

Gillian's eyebrows shot upwards as she tilted her head at him, grinning at his choice of words.

"Oh come on, you know what I mean," he tossed a carrot stick at her, smiling as she caught it and tossed it back.

"We meet with the client Thursday afternoon. I'll let you all know what's going on if I feel confident in my suspicions."

"So we get to see Little Bo Peep Foster again?"

"Little Bo Peep?"

"Totally. You were rockin' the shy, innocent look well enough."

"Good to know," her voice thick with sarcasm. "I'm glad you were paying such close attention yesterday."

"Hey, it isn't often that we get to see the master at work and preserve it on video," Loker quipped.

Someone cleared their throat from the threshold of the break room. It was Bobby, hands shoved into his pockets.

"Sorry to interrupt. I was wondering if I could speak with you for a moment?"

Gillian looked to Loker who shrugged and took a bite out of his carrot. She rolled her eyes at him and stood, collecting her yogurt container and banana peel. After discarding them in the trash, she turned to Bobby and gave him a warm smile, then passed him and continued down the hallway to her office.

Bobby took a seat on her couch and cast a more studious glance around her office. She took a seat behind her desk, perfectly content with the distance between them.

"Not to be rude or anything," Bobby began, "but what the hell was that all about yesterday?"

"It's protocol to get a solid read on a client. If we're working for him, I want to make sure we've covered all the bases."

"I spoke to Zoe and I listened to that tech guy, Eli. You were up to something, and don't try to deny it. Lindsay gets that same creepy twinkle in her eye when she's about to do something only _she_ thinks is right."

Gillian sighed. Having to deal with Bobby in addition to his client was growing as difficult as she predicted. Now all she needed was a visit from Zoe and her life would be complete.

"I was trying to zone in on some of the weaknesses in your client's testimony. Sometimes I use different techniques to elicit the response I'm looking for. That's all."

Bobby took in her words, weighing their truth. She hadn't lied yet, so she wasn't sure where he'd find fault. Nodding slowly, he seemed to understand her aims.

"I don't even know if I buy this stuff. Zoe is the one who suggested that we bring him over to you in the first place," Bobby stated as he crossed his legs, his foot bobbling up and down absently. "I mean, what you do — don't they call it pseudo-science?"

Bobby's question wasn't malicious, more ignorant than anything. Gillian gave him a patient smile and decided to give him a small lesson.

"When we first walked in here, I went to my desk, you took a seat on the couch. You forced a sense of familiarity that you didn't quite feel. By the movement of your foot and the way you play with your wrist watch, you're a little nervous, but not to the point where you have to stand and shove your hands inside your pockets," Bobby uncrossed his legs and sat a little straighter.

Gillian stood and rounded her desk slowly, her voice even and posture relaxed. Bobby glanced at her once, but returned his gaze to the vase of daisies on her coffee table.

"You also seemed to deflate a little when you sat down, I imagine you haven't had a good night's rest in a while. When you speak, it's very tight and constrained. Excluding all I've heard about you, I'd imagine you like to save that aggression and frustration for the courtroom."

She crossed her office as she made her points, not bothering to take a seat yet. She motioned to different areas on his face as she continued speaking.

"By the set of your jaw and the way you narrow your eyes, you're angry, but you don't want me to know. You hardly know me, and you're afraid of how I might react. And when you speak, you tend to focus on different parts of my office, because looking at me reminds you of Lindsay and she makes you loose control."

At the last part he looked up and she was confused by what she saw. His anger had dissipated and was replaced by what she could only label as the 'someone ran over his dog' look. She absently wondered if that's what made Lindsay fall for him, because it was quite endearing.

Quickly, he schooled his features and sat up straighter, pursing his lips slightly. "Okay, you made your point. Pseudo-science or not, you know what you're doing."

Taking that as a truce, Gillian took a couple steps and eased into the chair next to Bobby. She noticed the way his eyes ran the length of her leg and she fought hard not to roll her own. Maybe she'd start wearing pants to work. They just weren't as fun to wear.

"I spoke with Lindsay last weekend… about you," Bobby stated casually. "She didn't have much to say, which I found interesting."

"Why's that?"

"She's normally shares a lot with me," he said as he propped his elbow on the armrest. "So I assume you spoke with her… asked her to keep quiet."

Gillian didn't reply, just returned his steady gaze. When he didn't speak, she decided to move him along.

"Is there a particular reason why you need to know anything about me? All that matters are my professional credentials, which aren't difficult to obtain."

"I agree, your credentials were readily available. Impressive too, I might add. Although, I find it odd how one double majors in French and International Finance, then goes on to pursue a doctorate in Psychology."

Gillian watched the pull of his lips and the tweak in his eyebrows. She imagined it would be unpleasant to be cross-examined by Bobby. If anything Lindsay said about him was true, then Gillian needed to steer the conversation another direction.

"Stranger things have happened," she replied dismissively. "What matters is how qualified I am _now._"

"I understand. It's just… I find this whole situation fascinating, and I'm curious. That's all."

"About?" Hopefully she could appease him early on so she wouldn't have to deal with it later.

"Well, after the few encounters we've had together, I've gotten a better understanding of how you work… I think. Aside from our introduction, you've been very civil, more so when Zoe isn't around. While Lindsay tends to run hot and cold all the time, you're fairly even-keeled."

"What did I say about comparing the two of us? It's a useless endeavor. We're two completely different people."

"Oh, I agree," he replied as he tugged his tie loose. "But you're more similar than you think. You're both highly empathetic, strong-willed, and incredibly intelligent women. Still your differences are pretty glaring. Lindsay enjoys attention — hard-earned, respectful attention. She had a reputation around the courthouse for doing the impossible."

Gillian nodded, catching the pride in his voice. She was well aware of how excellent an attorney Lindsay was.

"But you, I think inherently… you don't enjoy the spotlight, which is partly why you get along with Lightman so well. He is an unabashed attention grabber, though typically with a purpose. Still, you never try to steal his show, so he doesn't feel threatened by you. You like to fly under the radar. I bet you were one of those kids who got up to no good when you were younger, but never got caught."

"Are you going somewhere with this?" Gillian asked, crossing her arms casually. It wasn't as fun being on the receiving end of his scrutiny. If Bobby truly knew how to read her, he'd know that it was time to back off. Unfortunately, he took it as an indication that he was finally getting somewhere.

"What I'm curious about is how someone like you ended up getting a doctorate in psychology."

Gillian frowned. She was rarely asked that question. Though typically, her college major and how _that_ led to a doctorate in psychology was never a matter of concern. Considering she barely knew this man, she'd give him the stock answer she gave nearly everyone.

"I enjoy studying human behavior and helping others. I thought it would be useful to combine the two. Why did you become a lawyer?"

His shoulders tensed and fingers curled into a fist. It certainly wasn't difficult to find the right buttons to push. Bobby seemed to deliberate over whether he wanted to share this information. He looked away from her, studying the painting on the wall. Keeping his gaze fixed elsewhere, he replied softly.

"I uh… I come from a blue-collar family, my dad is… was, a janitor in this big law firm up in Boston. I used to run around in the afternoons, watching these important men in their expensive suits talking to these well-to-do people. Then I'd look at my dad, wearing his grey coveralls, cleaning out the men's room. I knew what I wanted for myself, and it wasn't that."

Gillian nodded, but found herself conflicted. She wasn't sure if she should slip into Doctor Foster mode, or if she should go the other route of one who was relatively familiar with his story.

"Did you get what you wanted?" Doctor Foster it was.

He glanced over at her with his brow pinched together, dragging his index finger across his forehead.

"I got what I _thought_ I wanted," he whispered. "I became what I wanted to be."

Finally understanding, she leaned forward on her elbows slowly. "And you didn't like who that was?"

Bobby shook his head sadly and stood. "I didn't even recognize myself."

So much of her wanted to ask about Lindsay, about his version of what went wrong. But, she'd chosen to go the professional route, and in doing so, she'd have to let him tell her at his will.

When he reached her door, Bobby turned back and shoved one hand inside his pocket. "I know you don't want to help us with this case, but I wanted to say thank you. I hope it's worth it."

Gillian nodded, watching as he silently took his leave. Musing over his choice of words, she frowned as she returned to her desk. He wouldn't be thanking her when this was all over.

.::.::.

Just as Gillian was leaving her cell phone rang. Pulling it from her purse, she glanced at the nameplate and grinned.

"I wasn't expecting you to call."

"Should I hang up then?"

"Funny," she replied drily. Unlocking her car door, she dropped her computer bag in the back seat then climbed into the front. "What's going on, Henri?"

"I wanted to check in to see how the interview went yesterday," he said smoothly. She was too distracted with hooking up her bluetooth to pay attention to his tone.

"It was okay, I still can't get a good read on him. My partner and I agreed to another interview the day after tomorrow."

"Your partner? As in _Doctor Cal Lightman_?"

Gillian smirked at the way Henri said his name. Of course he'd looked into her company. It was such Henri thing to do.

"Did you do a background check on him yet?"

"My friend at the F.B.I. is working on it. I'll let you know when I get it." By the upward lilt of his voice, Gillian could tell he was smiling.

"I imagine it'll be pretty interesting," she said as she got on the beltway. It was seven at night but there was still a good deal of traffic remaining. Without even thinking she continued, "How was your day? Did you end up closing that case?"

"No, still open. I just got home actually. Long day."

There was more that he wanted to say but wouldn't for some reason or another. Fixing her gaze on the license plate in front of her, Gillian bit the bullet and went for it.

"Why' d you really call?"

She heard the shuffling of fabric and imagined that he was sitting in a chair, or lying in bed perhaps. Thinking of Henri in bed probably wasn't the best idea at the moment.

"I was just wondering when you were going to tell me that you'd gotten a divorce," His voice was tighter and she could detect a little contempt buried in his words.

"Considering it had nothing to do with the case? Never."

"Really?" She could understand his doubt, but it was true. Her divorce was none of his business. "So, you have absolutely no desire to know whether or not I'm married or have children?"

By the taunting in his tone, she wanted to reach through the phone and squeeze his lips shut. "You aren't married and you have no children. Lovers perhaps, but no wife or ex-wife. If you had kids, you'd have mentioned them by now. If you were married or divorced, you wouldn't have even broached this conversation."

"And you know this how?"

"It's what I do Henri," she replied as she took her exit. She heard him shuffle again and knew with certainty that he was in bed, probably turning on his side.

"You think I have lovers?"

"Certainly not at the moment," she shot back, forgetting how exasperating he could be.

"How do you know she's just not here yet?"

"You're already in bed, it's late, and you're talking to me," she said assuredly. "You've always had a one-track mind. There's no way you'd be able to switch off when another woman got there."

"Pretty sure of yourself." She could tell he was grinning, enjoying their banter. "And what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you have any lovers?"

"That isn't any of your business."

"I'll take that as a 'no.' What about Lightman?"

Gillian laughed. If she got a dollar for how many times she'd been asked that. "No, he and I are strictly platonic."

"_Right_," Henri said doubtfully. "There's a picture of you two in one of these newspaper articles I came across yesterday. Looks like he tried to get himself blown up or something. You're standing right in front of him looking at a cut above his eyebrow."

She knew that picture. It was taken a couple months ago when Cal had stupidly walked into a hostage situation. It wasn't one of his better moments, and she'd spent days being angry with him.

"So? He's lucky I wasn't trying to forcefully remove his head from his body."

"That's what I thought," Henri replied with satisfaction.

"What?"

"Is he the reason you divorced your husband?" despite her ire, she could hear the spite when he said _husband_.

"No. Lightman is only my partner. My marriage ended for completely different reasons." She willfully ignored her own distancing language.

"Then why is Lightman looking at you like that in the photo?"

Gillian frowned. She didn't know what he was talking about. She was pretty sure Cal had just gotten done venting at her when that picture was taken.

"Sorry?"

"I thought you _read people_ for a living," Henri stated. "When you get home, go look at that picture. Then tell me there's nothing going on between you two."

Gillian sighed in frustration. This was pointless. "Goodnight Henri, sleep well."

"Trust me, I will."

That infernal man. If she'd been holding her phone at the moment, she'd have thrown it out her car window.

Gillian arrived at home a short while later to her blessedly quiet house. It wasn't until she readied for bed that she was reminded of Henri's words. Gillian didn't have a copy of that article. She tended to do away with evidence of Cal's recklessness. There was probably a copy of it online, but she'd take a look in the morning. The prospect of a full night's sleep was far too appealing at the moment for her to bother with searching for it.

Too bad memories of her and Henri kept her dreams at bay.

.::.::.

A/N: Here's the deal. I feel like Foster is turning into a bit of a Mary-Sue. Trust me, that is not my intent. I'm just trying to empower her with all the subtle awesomeness that we've seen on the show, barring the most recent episode. My other reason is that it's much more interesting to create the hot mess that Gillian is going to get herself into when she realizes she's so deep she doesn't know which way is up.

A/N2: I am not a psychologist, nor did I major in psychology. I've studied it for years and deal with it frequently in my profession, so I do know what I'm talking about (for the most part). That being said, I've taken artistic liberties in the Foster/Cal section, so please oh please do not not rail on me for how I'm going to interpret what's going on. Also, I do know that there is a drastic difference between Foster's two theories. As does she. Just sit back and enjoy the ride. Bring popcorn too. Or jujubees, because those get stuck in your teeth and last longer.


	7. Chapter 7

Title: The Lies We Tell (7/?)  
Pairing: gen, possible C/G  
Rating: K  
Category: Suspense/Drama, dash of angst  
Disclaimer: LtM characters aren't mine, DEK owns Bobby. I own HT.  
Summary: When Zoe brings a new case and a new partner to the Lightman Group, long-buried truths will be revealed as they work to defend an innocent man, while a side investigation may place one partner in mortal peril.  
A/N: Large, chapter is large. Must be concise for next one. This chap is big on life and low on plot. Eh. Thanks for the feedback everyone! No beta, all mistakes are mine

.::.::.

It was interview day. Oddly enough, Gillian felt much calmer today than she had in weeks. She wasn't sure if this was the calm before the storm or what, but she wasn't going to make a fuss. Picking up her cell phone, she turned towards her window and dialed an increasingly familiar number.

"Allo? Inspector Toussaint's phone," the voice was smooth and feminine. For a beat Gillian contemplated hanging up.

"This is Gillian, is he available?"

"Ah, so you're the reason Henri's been smiling like a loon for the past week," replied the other woman, grin evident in her voice.

"Sorry?"

"Henri has been —" the woman was interrupted by another voice, presumably Henri's. Gillian heard the muffled sounds of a phone being handed over.

"Gillian? Forgive her, Vivi is just jealous because her marriage is boring and the only exciting phone calls she ever gets are her husband asking what's for dinner."

Grinning at his comment, she laughed as he said 'Ow', most likely receiving a lob in the arm from _Vivi. _She heard another shuffle and it seemed like he'd just closed a door since the background chatter dissipated.

"Sorry about that," Henri said again. "What can I help you with today, Miss Gillian?"

"After all these years, you're _still _going to call me that?"

"I'd say it's even more apt now than it was back then."

Gillian sighed loudly and shook her head. "I was curious if you could get in touch with the officers who interviewed Martin Thomas."

"To get their undocumented opinion on him?"

"Essentially. It's hard to read between the lines when you're unfamiliar with whomever wrote the report. I also want to know what the final result was in the case they'd been working at the time."

"Got it," Henri replied. "Anything else?"

"Not right now," Gillian replied, running through her mental list.

"Okay, we've got a busy afternoon, but I'll see what I can come up with."

"Thanks."

"So… did you look at that picture?"

Gillian frowned. Yesterday had been relentless. So much so that she'd forgotten to eat dinner until Cal practically sat in front of her and made her eat. A random picture didn't even make her priority list.

"Why not? Afraid of what you might see?"

"I know exactly what I'll see," Gillian replied. "Nothing but Cal getting irritated because I'm smothering him. He does it pretty often."

"If you say so," Henri replied doubtfully.

"I _know_ so," she felt the air pressure change in her office and turned around to see Zoe sticking her head in questioningly. "I have to go, Call me later if you get anything?"

"_As you wish._"

Gillian smiled at his familiar reply and ended the call.

.::.::.

The elevator chimed innocently as it unleashed an impeccably dressed lawyer. She strode, nay — she_ sauntered_ down the hall as only she could. Never mind that the corridor of The Lightman Group wasn't a catwalk; she had legs to the ceiling and used them to their full potential as she continued to her intended destination.

Bypassing Heidi's desk entirely, Zoe stopped in front of Gillian's office and glanced through the glass. Gillian was facing away from the door, speaking on her cell phone. Deliberating quickly whether it would be too rude to interrupt the call, Zoe decided to go for it, hoping Gillian wouldn't mind.

Opening the door, Zoe heard the tail end of Gillian replying to someone in French. Gillian turned at the sound of her door opening and didn't bother hiding her surprise when she saw Zoe at the threshold. She held up a finger, indicating she was wrapping the call and Zoe nodded in understanding. Watching Gillian listen to the person on the other end was interesting, if only because of the smile she wore.

If Zoe didn't know any better, she'd say Gillian was flirting with whomever she was conversing. Unfortunately, the language barrier hindered her ability to eavesdrop. Still, a woman didn't smile like that unless… _was Gillian seeing someone? _Maybe there was truth to that _Belgian lover_ comment.

Gillian ended her call and sat down, smiling briefly.

"Sorry about that," Gillian crossed her legs as Zoe took a seat across from Gillian. "Do you need help with something?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Zoe stated smoothly. "I was hoping that whatever charade you're planning to pull later could be put off for a bit."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Zoe found it amusing how Gillian didn't even bother trying to lie in a believable manner. Was the woman even capable of lying?

"I bet you don't," Zoe replied doubtfully. "Here's the deal. Bobby has a lot riding on this case. Actually, our entire firm does. Those tapes are probably going to be inadmissible in court, so Bobby needs to prove to the jury that Le Fort is innocent in the simplest manner possible."

Gillian nodded, "I understand. That's exactly why we're having this meeting, to prep Le Fort for next week. And besides, I wouldn't worry about Bobby. He's had much worse odds and still managed to pull off a win."

"That was the other thing I wanted to talk to you about," Zoe crossed her legs as she leaned forward, propping her elbow on her knee. "What is it exactly that you have against Bobby?"

"Why did you agree to work with him in the first place?" Gillian deflected as she cocked her head to the side. "Did you know he used to be married to my cousin?"

Zoe could feel Gillian's scrutiny and tried her very best to relax her face. "You're just as bad as Cal. And no, I didn't. I'd run into him several times at the courthouse and we got to talking. I made an extension and he accepted. All I knew was that he had an ex-wife and a son, but he kept his personal life private."

"You knew something the day you introduced us," Gillian fired back. It really was eerie how similar to Cal she could be.

"The truth? I'd already suggested that we bring the case you. We had the tapes and you're the audio expert. It just so happened that on the way over for our initial meeting, Lindsay called Bobby's iPhone and her face appeared on the screen. They talked about one of her cases, then he said something about Bobby junior and ended the call. When I tried to ask him about Lindsay, he clammed up."

Zoe leaned back in her chair as Gillian took in her words, buying her story. The majority of it was true, except the part in the car had happened the day before the initial meeting, but… _semantics_. It had given Zoe enough time to read up on the illustrious career of Lindsay Dole and make sure that Gillian wasn't somehow living a double life.

Gillian nodded at Zoe then sighed quietly. She appeared to be laboring over what to say next. "Does Bobby ever talk about Lindsay? Now?"

Smiling slowly, Zoe nodded. She'd had lunch with Bobby on Tuesday and they'd finally cleared the air regarding their exes. It made for an interesting afternoon.

"He does, actually. He says she's a great…" Zoe hesitated, not wanting to point out the main difference between the cousins.

"Mother? I know she is." Gillian offered and Zoe shrugged in agreement. Gillian sat up straighter and inhaled quickly. "With your client… What I'm trying to do is ensure that he isn't a dangerous man. If all goes well today, then clearly, we'll do our best to help make the case airtight."

"And what if it doesn't go well today?"

"For right now, let's hope for the best." Gillian smiled softly and Zoe had to stop from rolling her eyes. She hated non-answers.

"Don't forget that I'm a defense attorney. This isn't the first time I've had to deal with dangerous men."

"Yes, well, there's a difference between garden variety and pathological dangerous."

Zoe couldn't help but frown. She may not see eye-to-eye with Gillian on a great many things, but she _did _respect her and her abilities. If Gillian felt that Le Fort was a dangerous man, then she'd take heed. It didn't mean she'd drop the case, but she'd certainly be more careful.

"Does it ever bother you?" Gillian asked quietly. "Working with people that have committed heinous crimes?"

"Did it ever bother you at the Pentagon?" Off her hesitation, Zoe clarified. "Just because the government sanctions an assassination or the destruction of several lives, doesn't mean that it isn't wrong."

Gillian nodded, acceding to Zoe's point. Zoe felt there was more in that question that wasn't being asked. "I think the real question is _how_ can I willingly defend a guilty person? Sometimes I don't even know why. But there's one thing that scares us all—"

"That one of these times, your client could actually be innocent?" Gillian finished Zoe's statement with a sardonic grin, having heard the saying before. "You're a baffling breed, you defense attorneys, I'll give you that much."

Zoe's eyebrow quirked upwards at the comment. "I think I'll take that as a compliment."

Gillian gave Zoe a smile that reached her eyes and Zoe found it nice to be on the receiving end for a change. Occasionally, especially when Cal wasn't involved, she could have a civil conversation with Gillian. It was rare, but they had their moments.

"Oh. I wanted to give you a heads up," Zoe said as she stood. "Cal's up to something."

Gillian grabbed a blue folder and stood as well. "Isn't he always?"

.::.::.

Lightman was up to something.

Loker frowned as he watched the scene unfold in the cube. First off, Lightman had taken over and was being his usual self, prodding Le Fort and being mildly hostile. Foster was sitting quietly, showing no outward signs of irritation, but Loker could tell she was pissed.

He knew Foster had planned another sneak attack on their client, but for some odd reason, Lightman had shut her down at every attempt. Obviously, Lightman had a plan of his own, but considering Foster was actively trying to diagnose this guy, it would be hard to do with Lightman's interference. Loker wondered why the sudden change.

Although he didn't doubt Lightman's ability to diagnose people, Loker gave Foster a bit more credit in that area, since _she_ was the clinical psychologist. Regardless of how quickly Lightman had spotted that psychopath or the girl with multiple personality disorder, being a researcher hardly qualified Lightman in whatever he was now trying to do.

Then again, maybe Lightman hadn't seen anything and figured it was okay to proceed as normal.

.::.::.

Ria nodded at Bobby and Zoe as they passed, leading Le Fort down the hallway. She turned to watch as they continued toward the exit, curious as to how the interview had gone. She'd had a dentist appointment, but would have gladly traded a week staring at scary Lightman faces rather than return to the Chair of Torture. Le Fort seemed harmless enough, which was saying a lot, considering he was charged with attempted murder.

The door opening behind her caused Ria to turn around. Foster stormed out of the lab, looking… Ria didn't know how to place it; she rarely saw this expression on Foster. Oh yes. Furious. Foster was furious. Last time it had been directed at her. Right.

Just then, Lightman came out looking one part angry and one part guilty. Catching her wrist, Lightman tugged just as Foster rounded on him, pushing him forcefully in the chest.

"You had no right to do that," she said vehemently.

"You saw for yourself Foster, Le Fort had nothing to do with the trafficking. Nothing."

"What about the other stuff? The whole _reason_ for bringing him back in? I can't get a solid read on him if you're going to bulldoze the entire interview."

As they continued back and forth, Ria watched the entire scene with the same awe that children had when agreeable parents got into a nasty argument. Even worse, she couldn't move from her position in the hall because she would draw attention to herself. Angry Lightman was one thing, she'd experienced him often enough to get the hang of the dynamics.

But angry Foster was a different machine entirely. Ria wasn't quite sure how to handle the fallout, primarily because Lightman was the one making her this way.

"I'm tellin' you right now Foster, all we need to be concerned about is the trial. After that, we wash our hands of him and be done with it."

"You're _telling_ me?" Ria picked up on his poor choice of words before he did. "Or is that an order?" He flashed shame and Foster saw it as easily as Ria did. "Glad to know this is such an equal partnership, _Lightman._"

Foster yanked her arm from his grasp and turned sharply, heading toward her office.

"Foster, don't —"

Pulling open the door to her office, Foster stopped Lightman with a scathing look. "Bite me."

Eyes widening, Ria briefly wondered where or when Foster had picked up that uncharacteristic comeback. She then glanced at Lightman who gave Ria his own look of scorn before stomping off to his office.

Completely at a loss, Ria entered the lab, hoping Loker would have some sort of explanation.

.::.::.

It was mid-morning the following day. Cal and Gillian wisely stayed apart since their argument. Still, if it weren't so cold outside, he'd think Foster was the one producing the chill.

"Still angry with me?" Cal asked as he surveyed his partner from the entrance to her office.

"Yes," she replied succinctly. The way she held herself indicated that she was indeed still angry, but her resolve was weakening.

Cal knew she'd wanted to interview Le Fort, but he firmly believed that the more ignorant they played in the whole matter would be the best for all parties involved. He couldn't keep an eye on both Zoe and Foster at the same time. It was hard enough dealing with Emily. Once the trial was over and Cal didn't have to worry about all these women, he'd poke around Le Fort some more.

"Peace offering?" He watched as she auspiciously eyed the brown paper bag he held out. She glanced at him then took it warily. Shaking it, she carefully opened the top and sniffed. Cal couldn't help but smirk at her actions.

"For crying out loud. It's not going to blow up," Cal stated as she narrowed her eyes at him. He slouched into the chair and took a sip of his coffee.

"Never know when it comes to you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Gillian didn't respond. She was too busy trying to figure out how to devour her entire chocolate chip muffin in one bite. Cal just shook his head in wonderment. If only all the women in his life were this easy to appease. Of course, he knew she wouldn't have even let him sit down if he had come empty handed.

Cal considered for the umpteenth time in their partnership telling her how beautiful she was in that moment of childish glee. He knew she'd just shrug it off. She always doubted his sincerity when it came to that kind of thing. He wasn't sure if it was out of self-preservation or because she genuinely didn't believe him.

"What's on the agenda for later?" he asked lightly. A little too soon to poke the sleeping bear. He'd save the heavy stuff for the weekend.

"I'm meeting Bobby to go over his witness list," Gillian replied. "Do you know if Loker will be free later? I wanted him to show Bobby what he and Torres were working on yesterday."

Cal wasn't sure which bothered him more: Zoe being partners with Donnell, or Gillian meeting with him all the time. At the moment, he was more distracted by Zoe's involvement, but that could change.

"Nah, Loker and Torres both mysteriously managed to have engagements this afternoon," Cal said. Gillian picked a chocolate chip out of her muffin and nibbled. Adorable.

"When do we need to worry about their _thing_?" mused Gillian.

"When it becomes a problem, I guess." Cal offered. "They're smart enough not bring it into the office. They must know that with all my cameras around, I'll put whatever they do here online."

Cal grinned at the reprimanding glare Gillian shot him. Then she seemed to realize how real that threat was and merely shrugged.

"What's got you so bothered about Zoe and Bobby?" she asked after a moment of quiet.

Quirking his eyebrows at his partner, he kept his face free of concern. Instead he slouched further into his chair and studied her carefully. She returned the gesture, a slow smile creeping across her face as she did so. Gillian was one of the few people who would let him just… watch, without getting self-conscious or nervous.

"You're _still_ jealous?" Gillian asked. "I really think she and Bobby want to keep everything professional."

Cal didn't believe that for a second. He saw the way Zoe looked at Donnell, the way she smiled at him when he'd lean over and whisper something, the way they understood each other. They'd give in to that mutual attraction sooner or later.

"No, you _hope_ that they keep it professional. I know Zoe," Cal replied as he shook his head, "I imagine by Christmas she'll have shagged him or they'll have dissolved the partnership."

"O Ye of little faith," Gillian chided, but shrugged all the same. "What about you? Busy this evening? Any sabotaging you haven't told me about?"

Ignoring her dig, Cal shook his head as he watched her finish her muffin. Taking a sip of his coffee, he pulled out his phone when he felt it vibrate with a text from Emily. Oddly enough, Gillian's phone rang at the same time. Busy responding to Emily, he didn't notice the unbidden smile on Gillian's face as she answered the call in English.

"Hey… maybe… that's okay, we've been busy anyway… what?... no I haven't looked at it… sure… thanks."

The call was quick, but he wasn't paying much attention. Cal was too preoccupied by Emily's request that she have two friends spend the night. Unless she was offering to drug him beforehand, there was no way in hell that was going to happen.

"Haven't looked at what?" Cal asked absently, still trying to figure out how to make sure his daughter wouldn't get arrested that evening. Maybe he could get Zoe to draw up a contract or something of that nature.

"A picture." Gillian turned back to him, not even bothering to get annoyed at his pestering.

"Of what? Do you have lewd photographs hiding around here somewhere?" Cal waggled his eyebrows at her, grinning lasciviously.

Gillian frowned at him and it wasn't in exasperation. "I'm not a fan of that kind of thing. There better not be."

Cal watched her closely as she cleaned up her mess and tossed it in the trash. Gillian's face was blank, too blank. They'd dealt with cases of voyeurism before; he'd never seen her react in such a way. Once again, Cal was struck by the fact that there were still untapped reserves about Gillian that he didn't know and probably never would. Of course, so did he. There was such a thing as knowing _too much_ about a person.

Though, Cal doubted he'd ever reach that point in Gillian.

"Dr. Lightman?" Cal turned to see Heidi leaning through the doorway. "Your eleven o'clock is here. Shall I ask her to take a seat in your office?"

Cal glanced around Heidi and saw a tall, leggy blonde waiting patiently. Perfect.

"Oh, no, I'll lead the way," Cal replied quickly as he hopped up. "Wouldn't want to make a bad impression, would I?"

He looked back at Foster who merely shook her head at him and sighed as predicted. Just before he left her office, Cal remembered his entire reason for coming to her in the first place.

"You free for lunch tomorrow?" he asked quickly as he tapped the door frame.

She didn't even bother looking up from her computer as she typed away. "Sure, just give me a call before you want to meet up. My Saturday mornings are busy."

"Brilliant."

.::.::.

Gillian stared at the computer screen then watched Cal lead what could have easily passed as some Swedish model into his office. He didn't even bother trying to hide his attraction. The man could be so unrelentingly obvious sometimes. Despite her residual anger and frustration, she smiled anyway.

Cal may not want to pursue Le Fort as _Martin Thomas_, but that didn't mean she'd have to stop. She'd worry about that later though. She had other matters to attend to at the moment.

Just to get Henri to stop nagging, Gillian pulled up the stupid article that he wouldn't keep quiet about. The article had been in the Washington Post, which meant plenty of people saw it. All she knew at the time was that a photographer had been taking pictures of all the debris and rubble. Someone had approached them for a quote, but Gillian let Cal do the talking, choosing to stand by as he explained the situation.

Scrolling down, she scanned the article until she reached the image of her and Cal. After enlarging, she scrutinized it as objectively as possible, pretending she didn't know the people in it. There was a gaping hole in the side of a large building with flames licking up to the roof, bricks strewn everywhere, cars in bits and pieces. Firefighters jogged this way and that while officers kept bystanders at bay.

It seemed as though the photographer focused on them because they were the only two people standing still in the entire photograph. Gillian looked at herself first, observing one hand flat on his chest as the other was examining a cut on the side of his forehead. Cal's hand was wrapped around her forearm while the fingers of his other hand were just barely touching her waist. For all intents and purposes, it looked like he was about to push her away — mainly because he did.

But if she took away that knowledge and looked at the photo as a moment in time, it would appear a bit different to the casual viewer. It would look like a woman who cared or possibly loved the man whom she was examining. Not dwelling too much on those thoughts, Gillian looked once again at Cal. His face harder to read, she traced the slack eyebrows, the warmth of his gaze and crinkle around his eye, the slight quirk of his lip.

Gillian leaned back in her chair and pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a bounding headache coming on. No, to the casual viewer, that wouldn't look like irritation at all.

If she didn't know any better, she'd say it looked a lot like love.

Considering Cal had just chased a model into his office, however, Gillian sited that as prime evidence that the image was a fluke. Never mind that her company had determined an entire personality based off one image, one look, one quick trip of the lip. She knew without a doubt that Cal Lightman was not in love with her. Care deeply? Yes. Love platonically? Of course. But was he _in love_ with her? Definitely not.

She knew this to be true, if only because she spent about 75% of her waking hours with the man. If she hadn't caught a glimmer of it by now, then she never would. Though, if Cal ever looked at her the way he looked at his new client, she'd consider changing her opinion. Though that would only indicate lust and for the time being, Gillian was pretty sure that was all Cal was capable of anyway.

Gillian shut off her computer and closed her eyes, trying her best to stave off the headache. Glancing at her clock, she had forty-five minutes before she met with Bobby. Swiveling around, she took in the view as she let her thoughts wander for a few minutes.

.::.::.

_Gillian was sitting on the floor with books scattered all around, scribbling furiously in a densely packed notebook. In her hands was a worn copy of Madame Bovary, in her ears was the voice of one bored young man._

_"If you're so bored, then why'd you come?" Gillian asked absently as she thumbed through the book, looking for a particular passage. "It's not like you didn't know what they'd be doing."_

_Her roommate, Colette, was currently in the throes of some rather passionate sex in the next room with Henri's best friend, Luc. Henri sighed loudly, running his fingers through his floppy light brown hair._

_"I thought that'd be obvious." Henri messed with the lens on his camera, focusing on the window just behind Gillian. "I want to lure you out into the great unknown and have an adventure."_

_"In case you haven't noticed, I'm trying to finish my paper. Then I have to study for my exam on Thursday."_

_"But it's only Monday!"_

_"Exactly."_

_"You already have the second highest grade in the class, Miss Gillian," he called her Miss Gillian with an English accent, almost in a taunting manner. "In my experience, the trick to school is learning how to be efficient with your time and letting go of some of that tightly fisted control."_

_"I am not a control-freak," Gillian shot back, clearly having had this conversation with others. "I like to do well in school. What's so wrong with that? And why do you keep calling me Miss Gillian? It's annoying."_

_"You remind me of an au pair I had when I was younger," he replied._

_"You had an au pair? What else did you have when you were younger?"_

_"A great many things that I don't have now," he replied evasively. Uncurling from his upside down position in her armchair, Henri stood up and slung his camera over his shoulder. "C'mon Miss Gillian. I'll let you bring your book, but the day is young and beautiful and waits for no one. The time is ripe."_

_"For an adventure?" Gillian quipped as she surveyed him from her position on the floor. She pushed aside his outstretched hand, grabbed her satchel and tossed her book inside. "For the record, the only reason I'm doing this is so you won't even bother in the future."_

_"Why? Because you aren't any fun?"_

_"No, I'm plenty of fun. I'm just going to make you wish you hadn't asked in the first place." She trailed him as they descended the stairs and out into the open courtyard where several school kids were playing._

_"Duly noted." Stretching out his arm for her to take, he gave her a lopsided smile and a wink. She ignored the flutter in her belly, but took his arm anyway. _

_"And away we go." _

_Hours later and night was falling with heavy drops of rain. The quick stomp of hurried footsteps on slick pavement could be heard among laughter and the struggle for air. Only when they reached the courtyard leading to Gillian's flat did they stop running._

_"I can't believe you just did that," Henri replied in amazement. "I think I may have underestimated you Miss Gillian."_

_"You aren't the first, nor will you be the last," she replied smartly as she caught her breath. "You just have to make sure you don't get caught. My cousin always used to get so angry because we'd both be out doing the same thing, but she wasn't as good at being covert."_

_"Have you always been that good a liar?"_

_Gillian shrugged. Her ability to lie had been finely developed over many years. Though she'd just spent the entire afternoon and most the evening with Henri up to no good, she hardly knew him well enough to explain why she was so skilled at deception._

_"Nah, I'm actually pretty bad at it," she lied smoothly as she brushed her hair out of her face. "That tutu is very flattering on you. Brings out your eyes." Gillian motioned to his gauzy pink skirt that was currently losing its fluff due to the rain._

_"I can't believe I lost that bet," Henri replied. "Who knew you'd be able to collect so many numbers?"_

_"Once again, you underestimate me," Gillian smiled. She felt her cheeks growing hot at the way she'd approached all those men, flirting shamelessly as she collected their numbers. She glanced over at Henri who was shuffling through his backpack. _

_"Here," he handed her a postcard. She'd admired it earlier at a shop, but didn't think he'd been paying attention. _

_"What's this for?"_

_"To remember our first of many adventures. Turn it over."_

6, Septembre 1990. Les adventures d'Henri et Mme Gillian, part une.

_Gillian glanced up at him and grinned. "So you think there's the potential for more?"_

_"Of course. I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship, no?"_

_Gillian was a little too fond of the way he looked at her. Shrugging her shoulders uncertainly, she figured it was time to take her leave. "We'll see. Make sure you get Luc to watch The Princess Bride later, or Colette will cause bodily harm."_

_Henri gave her his lop-sided smile and a salute. "As you wish."_

.::.::.

A/N:Watch every episode of LtM to know what happened in the cube. It was Cal being Cal. 2. Back in the day when I took French, I made Colette my french name. Truestory. 3. This last scene was one of the first I ever wrote for the fic. 4. For those of you who are too young or sheltered to know any better, The Princess Bride (circa 1987) is a piece of preposterous cinematic achievement that must be viewed by everyone. Once you have, you will understand the "As you wish."P.S.S.S. The "Bite me" is a Lindsay Dole thing, and completely OOC for Foster, but I wanted to throw that in there for sh*#s and giggles.


	8. Chapter 8

The Lies We Tell 8/?

Pairing: None... yet

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: LTM, not mine. HT, mine.

Summary: When Zoe brings a new case and a new partner to the Lightman Group, long-buried truths will be revealed as they work to defend an innocent man, while a side investigation may place one partner in mortal peril.

A/N: No beta, all mistakes are mine. Going to stop apologizing for giant chaps. Grab a cuppa and get used to it. This chapter brought to you by Thelonious Monk and Ry Cummings. Hope you enjoy, thanks for commenting!

.::.::.::.

_Back lit by the dim streetlamps outside, Gillian sat at a piano, examining the black lacquer wearing thin, the ivory on the keys aged from years of use. She felt the hot summer air blowing through the floor-to-ceiling windows, making her long sun-streaked brown hair blow haphazardly all around. _

_She took another swig from her bottle of wine and set it down on the bench, wiping her mouth dry with the back of her hand. Staring forlornly at the keys, she placed her fingers in familiar positions and pressed softly, as though the mellow tone could somehow distract from the mayhem of a late night in Valencia._

.::.

Cal climbed out of his car and strutted up to Gillian's door, knocking a couple times. She must've been close by because she answered quickly.

"Hey," said a clearly confused Gillian as she backed away for him to enter. Chagrined she stated, "you said you were going to call first."

There was a response somewhere in Cal's head, maybe even on the tip of his tongue. Unfortunately, he was too busy staring at a glistening Foster. _Glistening_. She wore tight dark blue calf-length spandex and a dark grey sports top that had a trail of sweat down the center of her back.

Cal swallowed hard and tried to think of innocent things, like… snowflakes. Snowflakes would have melted if they touched her at the moment. Fail.

"Forgot," was all he could manage. He stepped inside and turned to watch her lock the door. She shook her head as she passed. He breathed her scent of sweat and lotion then followed her into the kitchen.

"I literally just walked in the door," Gillian stated as she picked up her recently discarded fleece off the table. When he still didn't reply, she seemed to realize why he was so distracted. "What? I was at Bikram yoga."

Blank face.

"Hot yoga?" Cal nodded in understanding. The movement seemed to help clear away the Foster induced fog. Hot, sweaty Foster stretching to impossible positions. It wasn't helping.

It's just… It was Foster without make-up, all blue eyes and freckles, hair tied back with strands escaping, and a fine sheen of sweat on her neck and arms. She looked about ten years younger, standing in front of him as she chugged away at her glass of water. All he could do was follow the column of her throat down to other pleasant areas to admire.

"Want anything?" he could hear the amusement in her voice as she turned to grab him a glass.

_You_.

"D'you have any orange juice?" Cal croaked instead. "Em drank all ours this morning. She had two other banshees running around, causing mayhem every five minutes."

Gillian gracefully retrieved the juice, casually placing her hand on her hip as she poured. She bit her lip when he mentioned the banshees. He eyed her suspiciously as she slid the juice over to him.

"How'd you know about them?"

"Emily asked me what kind of a mood you were in before you visited my office yesterday. She was thinking about having a couple girlfriends over."

"You must've been exacting revenge if you said I'd be okay with it. Did she mention that they talked so high and so loud that dogs couldn't even understand them?"

Foster laughed that light and airy laugh he loved so much. "No, she failed to mention that. She must have been operating under the assumption that you speak teenage girl."

"Wonder where she got that idea," Cal snarked before he drained his glass. "The worst part was the awful film they watched. I don't even know the name of it. But there was this giant and an albino and a mean prince named Pumpernickel. Quite original this film."

"It's Prince Humperdinck. The Princess Bride," Gillian murmured. "You can blame me for that. She'd asked me what my favorite movie was when I was younger."

"And _that_ was what you told her? Couldn't have been something like The Godfather?"

Gillian smiled at him as she picked up his glass and rinsed it in the sink. "No, shoot 'em up mobster movies aren't really my type."

"No, you prefer the mindless romantic comedies," Cal said knowingly. He expected a smile at his observation, but instead he got nothing.

Something was different about her lately, but he wasn't quite sure what. He'd been hoping to steal her away for lunch to determine what it was. She Turned to face him with her arms crossed loosely, her toe absently twisting in its spot on the ground. She seemed to be miles away, deep inside her head. Cal wondered why she was anxious.

It was then that he noticed the beads of sweat making the slow, enviable journey from the nape of her neck, gliding over her collarbone and sliding down the valley between her breasts.

Cal shifted uncomfortably. He did his best to treat Foster with respect and not breach any remaining propriety between them, but this was pushing it. Big time. He wasn't sure if this was punishment or a reward, but happening upon a pink-cheeked, spandex-clad Foster was tempting fate a little too strongly. If she didn't shower soon, he was afraid he'd have to forgo his plans and ravish her on the kitchen table.

.::.

_Twisting her hair into a knot at her neck, she sat up and hiked her skirt up over her knees. She placed her feet on the pedals as her fingers stretched to their limit. Slowly, she eased into one of many songs in her repertoire, years of piano lessons and showcases ingrained in her mind._

_She was of the belief that the best works were played to an empty room, and she certainly proved that in the darkness of the abandoned concert hall. Gillian found the room in her tipsy wanderings of the confused nightclub in which her friends were creating much pandemonium._

_When she reached a break in the piece, she heard a soft click and looked over to find Henri leaning against the wall, camera in hand. Gillian scowled at him, frowning even more when she heard his chuckle. It was the first time in a week that he'd been able to get her alone. Their small group of friends was backpacking around Europe, and like a dutiful friend, Colette had stuck to Gillian's side throughout. Until now. Trust alcohol and a Spaniard with smooth hands to distract Colette. _

.::.

Gillian leaned against the counter across from Cal, trying her hardest not to be self-conscious. It wasn't working. She felt ridiculously awkward and knew that he was either thinking dirty thoughts or wondering why she produced such an obscene amount of perspiration. She smelled like a gym bag, she looked a fright, and after spending the entire morning deep in thought, she was struggling to free herself from introspection. It was all those stupid dreams about Henri that were doing her in. They wouldn't stop.

Cal stood and retrieved a paper towel, folding it as he approached and stopped just in front of her. Miffed, she watched as he carefully, respectfully even, dabbed her chest, tracing a bead of sweat from the top of her cleavage up to the back of her neck.

And suddenly, all the air seemed to leave the room.

Her breathing shallow, she could only inhale his scent of aftershave and arrogance. God, what this man could do with a simple movement or look. The warmth emanating off his body was distracting enough, but she was mostly grateful that he hadn't touched her with his bare hand. Otherwise… she didn't want to think about what might have happened.

When she looked up, his eyes were hooded and she couldn't read him. She only hopped that he wouldn't notice the flush creeping up her neck and the chill erupting on her skin. He swallowed hard then blinked quickly. Finally he flicked his eyes up to hers and like always, they showed caring with a touch of smirk.

The moment vanished as quickly as his seriousness.

"Best get a shower," he murmured, voice husky. "I'm pretty sure the place we're going requires better hygiene and more clothing than what you've got on at the moment."

Gillian scoffed and smacked him on the chest, pushing him aside. Walking towards her bedroom, she failed to notice the way his hands curled at his sides, the way his eyes hungrily raked her form, the way his tongue poked out just so. She missed the way he banged his head against the wall in self-condemnation.

If only she could see that he wanted her more than a dozen blonde models or leggy brunettes.

If only he'd let her.

.::.

"_You seemed to be having fun on the dance floor," Gillian muttered spitefully, keeping her eyes fixed on anything but Henri. She blinked away the image of the voluptuous dancer who'd had her hands all over Henri no more than ten minutes prior._

"_Luc didn't seem to find fault with you either," he replied as he took a seat on the stripped wooden floor, hooking his arms around folded knees. "I'd be having more fun if you'd give in and dance with me." _

_Gillian didn't bother responding. It had been an entire year since they'd last seen each other. The only reason she'd agreed to this summer trip was because both Colette and Luc had sworn profusely that Henri would be unable to go with them. But, plans changed and at the last minute he'd hopped aboard their train three days into the trip and had been a thorn in her side ever since._

"_Not going to talk? Fine. At least play something, or finish that song," Henri requested above the din of the bass from next door. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him grab her bottle and take a swig. She hated when he drank her drinks. She used to love it, but that was back when she knew where his lips had been._

.::.

Cal watched as Gillian ate her salad. Mercifully, she'd changed into a soft-looking cashmere sweater and jeans, dusted on a hint of make-up and got ready much quicker than he'd ever anticipated. As their large-bosomed waitress came by with a water refill, he maintained his slouch in his chair and kept his eyes on his plate. Not that he didn't enjoy a good set of bosoms, but he knew Foster would catch it and he was doing his best to keep the focus on her at the moment. She'd take that window in a heartbeat and make some appropriate comment about his lechery and he'd have to hem and haw for a few minutes.

He had more important things on his mind.

"So, you ever going to tell me about this Belgian fella?"

There was no surprise on her features. Seemed like she knew exactly why he'd drug her out to lunch. Glancing up at him, she sipped her water and swallowed her bite slowly.

"How about you tell me what you already know about him and I'll decide if I want to share more."

Cal covered up his frown with a flash of a grin. She was getting much better at opposing him in an interrogation. Still, she couldn't hide everything.

"You loved him once, possibly still keep in contact, but few people know about him."

He catalogued her reactions but her face was carefully blank — all except for the part where he said she loved him once. There was some hurt there.

"You still have feelings for him… unresolved feelings. So whenever you ended things, and I bet it was you who ended them, it wasn't because of the typical reason like cheating or lying. You still think he's a good person."

Once again, he got nothing out of her, and he wasn't sure what to think. She smiled when he mentioned _good person_. Then she set down her fork and propped her arm on the chair, resting her chin atop her closed fist. She gave him a crooked smile and he knew that he'd walked into something.

"I don't see why you're jealous, Cal," she murmured knowingly. "There's nothing to worry about. It's not like I'm going to hop on a plane bound for Belgium."

"Dunno what you're talkin' 'bout," Cal replied. He frowned because he was most certainly not jealous. Definitely not. "Just trying to figure out what this guy is to you."

"He's my past," Gillian stated evenly. She was being far too scrupulous for Cal not to be suspicious. He wished that he could believe her, but the sheer fact that he knew nothing about this man meant that _he _was someone to be concerned about.

"Am I your present then?"

Another crooked smile. It made him wary. "Something like that."

Cal recalled a time when he'd used that exact phrase and it was as evasive as a non-answer could get. "And what about your future?"

"I think the dessert menu is in charge of that one," Gillian said as she leaned back in her chair, allowing the busboy to remove her plate.

"Should have known there was an ulterior motive when you ordered a salad for lunch."

Grinning playfully she took the proffered menu. "There's always an ulterior motive."

Cal watched her pour over the dainty script. She meant something by that. Gillian always meant what she said. It was his job to figure out to what it applied. So many people underestimated the puzzle that was Gillian Foster. He figured it was rather serendipitous he learned early on that she spoke in code half the time.

"I know why you brought us here," she grinned as she leaned forward and glanced out the window down the street. "We just so happen to be two blocks from the record shop."

"You don't say?"

"Are you trying to bribe me into complacency?"

"No," he wobbled his head back and forth at her doubtful look. "Yes. Always."

"I doubt it'll work, but I won't stop you from trying."

"Way to take advantage, Foster."

"Just being resourceful," she replied with the same mock innocence. "I thought you'd appreciate that quality."

Her dessert was delivered with his tea. He marveled at how large her eyes grew at the sight of the chocolate—nutella something or other that was placed in front of her.

"Have you checked your blood sugar lately?"

"If I develop diabetes, it will be well worth it."

Laughing, he only shook his head and settled back in his chair, perfectly content to watch Foster enjoy her dessert.

.::.

_Stubbornly, she shut her eyes to pretend Henri wasn't there, resuming the dark chords with speed and precision. It didn't work because she felt herself flushing beneath his steady gaze. The sexual tension between them ratcheted upward my the minute. It truly felt like the room was simmering. _

_Struggling to refocus, she tinkered and toyed, choosing to taper off from the classical piece and ease into a slow jazz tune. It was rich and warm and melancholy, just like her. Exhaling slowly, she lost herself in the rhythm, so much so that she momentarily forgot that Henri was there until she felt his breath upon her neck._

_Plucking away, she punctuated notes with his bare lips on the base of her neck, her fingers danced frenetically when his slid along her side, and she faltered when she felt him inch the strap of her dress down her arm. His hand slid between the silky fabric and cupped bare skin. She gasped and caught his bottom lip with her teeth, grinning into his open mouth. When she turned fully, he grabbed her hips and picked her up, placing her on the edge of the piano as dissonant chords filled the air. _

"_Let's get out of here," he murmured against her neck._

"_Why bother?" she whispered, his hands creeping up her gauzy skirt. Henri moaned into her mouth as he pressed against her. The bench made a resounding thud as it was kicked backwards. Her hands clutched and tugged until his trousers hit the ground. _

_They lost themselves amid the pulsating beat of the nearby tango music and the delicious heat of a Spanish summer night._

.::.

Something was up. Something more than Cal just trying to get information out of her. She'd been trying to figure out what it was the entire afternoon. Then the realization struck her in the 'M' section and she froze for a moment.

He was seeing someone. And it wasn't Zoe.

She glanced at Cal walking towards the window talking quietly on his phone. The only time he was ever quiet on his phone was when he was doing something he ought not or… well, that was the only time. As she reviewed the last couple weeks, mentally ticking off things that fit, she felt the sudden tightening in her chest that made it mildly difficult to breathe.

Once again, she cursed Henri Toussaint and his insistence that she look at that ridiculous photograph.

When all was said and done, she'd come away with two records and Cal had three, one for Emily. He was trying to ease her into the finer world of jazz and was trying to start easy with big band. Gillian simply smiled at his attempt, knowing that if one wasn't immediately drawn to jazz, they'd have to learn to love it.

Before Gillian could take two steps toward the car, Cal's hand snuck around her elbow and steered her toward Eastern Market.

Off her curious look, Cal finally bothered with words. "I can't make us dinner if I don't have anything to cook."

"Aren't you Mister Sensible?" Gillian elbowed him in the side. "Who said I was staying for dinner?"

"I figured it'd be a given after you found out what I was cooking."

She watched him for a minute, trying to tease out the possibilities. "Okay, I can read a good many things off you, but your dinner plans are not one of them."

"Paella," he said as he held open the door. "While I'm getting the essentials, go off and find us a decent bottle to knock back tonight, you being a burgeoning sommelier and all."

Gillian gave Cal a disparaging glance then procured a bottle of wine, meeting him ten minutes later at the car.

"Your mission, should you choose to accept it," Cal stated after he'd gotten the car started, "is to devise some form of dessert that will not give me a cavity or send me into a sugar coma."

"But that's the best way to have you."

"What, my senses dulled by sugar?"

"No. Catatonic," Gillian ribbed him playfully as he drove onto the expressway. She smiled at his laughter, that gentle huff off air that he produced with the light timbre at the start.

"Aren't we feisty this evening?"

.::.::.

_That night in the dance hall marked the rekindling of Henri and Gillian's romance the summer between her third and final years of school. Just as before, they'd been partners in mischief, easy to please and indisputably magnetic in their attraction. _

_The motley group of six danced from Spain down to Portugal, drank their way through Germany, hiked through Austria and Switzerland, and ate their way along the coast of Italy. It was the best summer Gillian ever had. _

_On her last day before she returned to the States, she had her first of many life-altering conversations._

.::.

Dinner was surprisingly relaxed. Cal contemplated prodding Gillian a bit further, but he was enjoying their light banter and easy camaraderie too much. He only had a couple things hanging over his head, but most of them could wait.

All except one.

Cal glanced at Gillian as she swirled her tea around in its mug. She still wore a smile from the crack he'd just made and seemed to have finally loosened up. They were in the middle of listening to her Thelonious Monk album and she was tapping her fingers idly on the table.

"Do you remember this song?"

Cal squinted at her, his mind searching its bank for that particular riff on the piano. Frowning, he shook his head.

"That one night, when you came to my office at the Pentagon? This was the song I was listening to. You said you could listen to it all day."

"Did I now?" He smiled at her as she rolled her eyes. He remembered exactly what she was talking about and wondered for the thousandth time how she retained those details. He figured it was a woman thing; or a Foster thing. She was the epitome of a woman, after all.

He cleared his throat as his fork glided over the completely bare plate. They'd had vanilla bean cheesecake. Foster certainly knew her dessert.

"Relocate? My bum is getting' sore from these chairs," he muttered as he stood and carried their empty plates to the sink. She rose and planted herself firmly on his overstuffed couch, fitting in like she belonged there.

He sat at the opposite end and tucked a foot beneath him, turning towards her slightly. He needed to watch her fully when he made this request. Eyes running over her features, Foster's head was pillowed against the back of the couch, her feat placed on the edge of the table, and her mug ensconced in her hands. She looked the picture of calmness.

"Foster," he began quietly. "I was wondering if I might trouble you with something."

His tone was too serious. As her head perked up immediately, he knew he'd started too strong.

"No, nothing like that. It's just… I know that you badly want to get this guy, Le Fort or _Thomas_ or whatever his name is. I do too. But… can you promise me that you'll wait 'til after the trial is over before you become Nancy Drew?"

.::.

_It was dawn and they were in bed, wide awake._

"_You're graduating early, Gill. I'll come to you in January and we'll go from there," Henri whispered in the quiet of his small apartment. "Don't try denying that The World Bank has been recruiting you. I know they've offered you the Paris job. Just... don't rule out anything yet. Can you promise me that?"_

.::.

Gillian watched the honesty on his face and fear in his eyes, observed his posture and heard the concern in his voice. There was no way she could deny this man anything when he looked at her like that. None.

In the interminable silence that lapsed, she weighed the odds, knowing that she'd be able to resume her _investigation_ of sorts in a couple weeks if Bobby was successful with the case. She could wait that long, no problem.

Turning back to Cal, she looked him in the eyes and nodded slowly. "Yes, I'll do my best."

He seemed to accept the truth in her reply, but didn't like her wording. Gillian had a problem with absolutes. Promises were only good if the foundation they were made upon was solid. At this point in time, she couldn't verify that. Still, Cal somehow managed to understand that and smiled warmly at her.

Gillian resumed her position and leaned her head back slowly, letting the rich, warm, melancholy sound of Thelonious Monk seep inside her mind among their casual conversation. As her eyes closed, she failed to acknowledge the nearly reverent way Cal watched her with his chin perched on his closed fist.

She'd have never made that promise if she had.

.::.

_Gillian bit her lip as Henri wiped a wayward tear from her cheek. She sat Indian style on his bed with the sheet wrapped tightly around her, cocooned against the world. She could see the fear and the sadness in his eyes and knew that he was in the same position. _

_The exchanging of one's heart was a precarious affair.  
_

.::.

Emily shut the front door quietly behind her as she eased into her father's house. She had a dual purpose for being here, one was that she'd gotten in an argument with her mom and couldn't stand to be in the house at the moment. The other was to get a peek at who it was that her dad seemed to think he'd been so discreet in dating.

Inhaling deeply, the strong aroma of spicy sausage and seafood filled her lungs. Whoever it was, her dad had gone all out when he'd cooked dinner. She could hear the low melody of a sad saxophone coming from the speakers located throughout the house. Emily wondered why he'd play something so doleful when he was trying to woo a woman.

Peaking around the corner she spotted her dad sitting in the recliner facing the couch, legs extended casually with his chin resting in his palm, elbow bent on the armrest. He seemed to have dozed off. She feared that his evening hadn't gone nearly as well as he'd intended. Not that she wanted to catch him doing anything untoward, because she didn't need to be scarred for life. Still, he didn't look unhappy, just… misplaced.

If he was going to fall asleep in the chair, he could at least have a blanket. But when she padded over to the couch, she found that it was already in use by one of her favorite people in the entire world. _Well, that explained it_. Emily no longer wondered at her father pulling out all the stops, just surprised at his timing. Then again, he mustn't have made any earth shattering confessions, because they were still down here. Maybe it was just a regular night in for those two.

Emily looked down at Gillian. She was curled on her side with her head tucked and hand shoved beneath the pillow while little puffs of air escaped her mouth. Emily smiled at the sight then ensured that Gillian was fully covered with the blanket.

Just as she was about to turn off the light a thought struck her and she glanced up at her dad one more time. Tracing his line of sight, she figured he'd probably fallen asleep watching his partner. Rolling her eyes, she shook her head at their stubbornness then turned off the light and music. Emily made her way upstairs to her room and sent a text to her mom, assuring her that she'd arrived safely.

.::.

_Six months, that was all Gillian had left of school. Once she graduated in December, she'd be snatched up by one of several companies; it was just a matter of which one. Sucking in a deep breath, she exhaled slowly as she weighed the odds of accepting the unlikely position in Paris. _

_A slow, tentative mile crept across her face and she nodded. His resulting grin was enough to make her heart explode. Henri leaned forward and kissed her soundly, overcome with delight. Tugging her down to the mattress, he hovered over her and placed soft kisses to her forehead and one more just to the right of her temple, the way he always did._

.::.

Gillian awoke with a start. Disoriented, she blinked hard to figure out what it was that woke her. The phone vibrating on the end table next to her seemed to be the culprit. Just as she grabbed the wretched device it stopped vibrating. Just as well. She stretched languorously and heaved herself upward.

She glanced at Cal's clock, three in the morning. Way too early for any American to be calling her. Frowning, she called her voicemail and listened to the messages quietly.

Speak of the devil. It was Henri. He'd left three messages, the last one sounding quite worried. Unbearably curious, Gillian fought her desire to call him immediately. Instead, she stood quietly and carried the blanket over to Cal sitting in the armchair. She was certain he'd hate himself in the morning for not bothering to go to bed. Why was he still down here anyway?

She left a short note on a post-it. Grabbing her purse and coat, she stuffed her feat into her knee-high boots and carefully let herself out. Once inside her car with the heat running full blast, she headed home. Just after she arrived, she plopped down heavily on her sofa without even bothering to remove her coat and dialed Henri's number.

"God, I've been trying to reach you all day. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, what's going on?"

"Wait. What time is it there? Three thirty? What are you doing getting home at three-thirty?"

Gillian rolled her eyes and ignored his question. "Henri, why did you need to talk to me?"

"Fine, fine. Sorry I asked. We've got a problem. Remember those interviewers you wanted me to look into?"

"Yeah? Can't find them?"

"Worse. The shy one you were particularly interested in? She was murdered. The same year Martin Thomas left Belgium. Even worse, the killer was never found."

Gillian suddenly felt a chill run down her spine and wished that she'd checked all the rooms in her home before stupidly dropping on her couch. All she could hear was the faint ticking of her grandfather clock and the dull throbbing of her heartbeat.

"Gillian?"

"Yeah. Sorry. I wasn't expecting that. Did they have any leads in the case?"

"No. Unfortunately, her body was too badly mutilated to get any trace evidence."

"Was she murdered the same way as the previous women in that serial killer case?"

"For the most part, yes. So we either incarcerated the wrong man, or we have a copycat on our hands. I've requested her autopsy report and am currently awaiting clearance to get access to the evidence locker. The problem is everything takes longer on the weekend."

"I understand," Gillian replied. "Keep me posted?"

"You bet. And Gill? Do me a favor and call when you wake up?"

"Why? Are you my keeper now?" Gillian was one part cross and one part glad that he cared so much. _Odd._

"Don't get huffy. Just reduce my stress level by letting me know you're okay. Is that too much a hassle?"

"I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

"Gillian…"

"It's late. Goodnight, Henri." Gillian was getting fed up with all the men in her life demanding that she do this or that in order to ensure her safety. Well, she had an alarm system now, she had mace, and she knew how to wield a frying pan. She'd be fine.

Just before she collapsed into bed, she received a text. It was from Cal.

_You forgot to cover up my feet. Blasted toes are freezing. Get home safe?_

Once again, she cursed and delighted in the concern. Responding quickly, she tossed her phone down the hall and dove back under the covers. Sleep was much more desirous than the men in her life at the moment.

Just as she fell asleep, she tried to ignore the fear that had begun to bloom and take hold within her heart. For the first time ever, she might have to break a promise to her partner. She hoped he'd forgive her for it in the end.

.::.

"_Promise me one more thing?" Henri whispered as he unwrapped the sheet from her body, covering her with his own. He met her questioning gaze with another smile and soft kiss. _

"_Never ever forget how much I love you. In this moment, we are perfect in our love. Never doubt that."_

_Her hand slid around his neck and pulled him close, breathing each other's air for a few seconds. She sealed his lips with hers and poured every ounce of belief into him. _

_Perfect or not, it was the closest she'd ever come to attaining it._

_.::.::.::._

A/N: I know the format was wonky, but I quite like it. Especially the parallels at the end. Ignore Henri's cheesiness. He's french. They do that ;) JK. 2. My board exam is in two weeks. I will be MIA until then, so this is my present to you fine people. Leave some love if you like, and please enjoy!_  
_


	9. Chapter 9

Title: The Lies We Tell (9/?)

Pairing: gen, Gill, Cal

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: LtM not mine; Henri & Le Fort, mine.

Summary: When Zoe brings a new case and a new partner to the Lightman Group, long-buried truths will be revealed as they work to defend an innocent man, while a side investigation may place one partner in mortal peril.

A/N: No beta, all mistakes are mine. Please be extra kind, WORD and I didn't get along this week. Though not exciting, it's setting us up for the second half, so a necessary evil. This is for Kelsey, the most fantabulous flurker around :)

.::.

It was Tuesday and Gillian found herself once again up to her elbows in work, looking over interview footage with Bobby and discussing tactics for the courtroom. The trial was to begin Friday and with each day that passed, Gillian felt the twisting discomfort of tension in her stomach.

Not only that, but her sleeping had been rather poor lately. It consisted primarily of memories of her and Henri, mixed with things that were completely made up. It made for confusing mornings.

"God it's late," Bobby muttered as he peered at his computer screen. His eyes bore dark circles and fatigue was etched in every feature.

"The calm before the storm." Gillian hummed as she lifted a stack of files. She felt Bobby's scrutiny and stuck her pen between her teeth as she gave him a questioning glance.

"Sorry. I just… how do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"I've spent the last three days with you, countless hours before then, and not once did you get short with me or anyone else," he stated disbelievingly. "I don't understand this constant… cheerfulness. Is it a show, or are you just naturally kind to everyone?"

Surprised, she deliberated before extracting her pen and replying slowly. "When I was younger, I was… very driven. A lot like Lindsay in that regard. But I was also very self-absorbed and didn't take much time for others. A lot of stuff happened in my early twenties that changed my perspective a bit. So… am I naturally this cheerful? Maybe. But I have my bad days, just like everyone else. I just don't like to impose my bad mood on others."

"Understandable," he nodded as he took a sip of his stale coffee. "My dad was like that. He literally had the crappiest job — cleaning up after suits and attitudes, but he'd come home, ask me about my day and actually care."

Gillian watched him for a moment. "Your father sounds like a great man."

Bobby leaned forward on the table, palming his eyes quickly to brush aside the exhaustion. "He was… up 'til the very end. He was the best person I've ever known."

"He had a stroke, right?"

"Yeah. I stayed with him full-time, just picked up cases here and there, nothing big. Linds… she was great. She helped me out a lot through all that, even though we weren't… together. She'd come over during her lunch break or when she had a free afternoon, give me some time off. I'd go to the park with Bobby junior, or get out and run."

"When did he pass away?"

Bobby hesitated for a moment, frowned as he traced the edge of his laptop. "It'll be two years ago on the twenty-fourth."

Thanksgiving. Which was next week. Ouch. "Are you going up to Boston for the holiday?"

"I would, but Lindsay is spending the four-day weekend with her family so we can all be together for Christmas. I'll probably order some Chinese and spend it wishing this case was over."

"That's awful. No one should be alone on Thanksgiving."

Bobby laughed. "What? Are you offering?"

"I don't even know what I'm doing yet. I was actually going to work with one of my girlfriends at a local shelter, but that's earlier in the day."

"Why am I not surprised? Gillian Foster helping others on Thanksgiving," Bobby smirked as she slapped him on the upper arm. "Though, I _am_ surprised that you aren't going to Lightman's."

"If I do, it's typically the day after. He needs to spend that time with his family."

"Funny, I thought you qualified." Bobby picked up a file and handed it over, knowing it was the one for which she'd been searching.

Gillian brushed aside his comment. "We haven't even talked about it. Everything's been so crazy lately, I don't even think he knows that the Holidays are approaching."

"Working a murder trial tends to do that to people," Bobby muttered as he grabbed a stack of files and stuffed them in his bag. "One thing that bothers me is that Le Fort refuses to turn over the real murderer."

"Maybe he's being threatened. If he turns the guy over, it might seal his fate outside of the courtroom. I just wish we knew what they were really arguing about that day."

"Yeah, you and me both."

Gillian watched Bobby and frowned. He was hiding something. She debated whether or not to push the issue or save it for later. It was ten p.m. _Later_.

"Are you taking off soon?" Bobby asked as he tossed his coffee cup in the trash.

"In a bit. I want to get the payroll out of the way so I can focus everything on Le Fort."

"I imagine having all your attention would be quite an honor," he smiled softly as he grabbed the door handle. "Night, Gillian. Thanks."

She listened to his footsteps as they carried down the hall. Pulling out her phone, she called Henri for the latest on the case. Sent to voicemail, Gillian reflected on Bobby's words.

Depending on the person, having all of her attention could also be a curse.

.::.

Cal arrived early to the office, bemoaning the early meeting he was to have with some self-righteous CEO. The case would pay well, and that would make Foster happy. He liked making her happy. Just as he approached his office, Heidi called after him.

"Dr. Lightman? I've got a gentleman on the line from the D.O.D. He wants to talk to Dr. Foster about her PTSD program."

"Tell him she'll call him back once she gets to the office."

"He said he just needed an update on one particular demo. Apparently he has an upcoming presentation and needs to know the status of the program."

Cal frowned. "Tell him to call back in an hour."

"Dr. Foster is out of the office all day. It's just one file, Dr. Lightman."

Cal _hated_ talking to the bureaucrats about science that was above their IQ range. "Fine, send it through. But I'm holding you responsible when I piss him off."

"Thank you!" her sing-song voice followed him into his office as he walked to his phone and picked up the receiver.

"Cal Lightman, what can I do for you?"

"Dr. Lightman, pleasure to finally speak with you. I'm John Bradford. I find your work very interesting."

"That's great, but I thought this was about Foster's work."

"It is," Bradford replied hastily. "I was wondering if you could take a look at the Kuwait demo? She's sending it over this Friday, but my presentation got bumped up."

"Right. Let me check." Cal rose and headed to the lab, accessing the database that housed her entire project. He scanned the files, labeled by city, until he got to the 'K's. Kabul, Kandahar, Kirkuk, Kigali, Kunduz, Kuwait…

Cal read her most recent entry tagged beside the _Kuwait_. She still had to add audio to the last minute and a half. He had no idea what that entailed.

"Looks like it's about finished. I can get my tech guy to give you a call this afternoon to tell you what's required. Honestly, I haven't a clue what's left to accomplish though."

"That's fine. I'll try calling her cell again later. One more thing, Dr. Lightman? Could please ask Dr. Foster to reconsider our offer? It has great potential to —"

"Offer?" Cal frowned. He had an idea as to what this was about. "How long have you been waiting for her to reconsider?"

"About six months now."

"Then that's your answer. Have a nice day."

Cal hung up the phone, shaking his head in disbelief. _Idiot_. Like he'd ever talk Foster into leaving her job. That was like giving Em a one-way ticket to Chicago. His phone rang again. It was the Mayor.

"Heidi, take a message. I've got… an urgent meeting to attend."

Cal grabbed a magazine and headed to the men's room.

.::.

Blistery was an understatement when describing the weather that morning. Gillian had to shield her phone from the wind as she spoke into her cell. She had a relentless day ahead, packed with back-to-back meetings and only a quick stop at the office later.

"What do you mean he was released?" Gillian asked as she walked from the coffee shop back to her car.

"I mean new evidence surfaced that proved his innocence," Henri replied.

"So… this suspect — whoever he is, the one guilty of at least six counts of first degree murder, is still roaming around Belgium, possibly having killed an inspector and even more women?"

"We don't know if he's in Belgium, Miss Gillian. We only know that the man who was convicted was later found innocent and released. "

"And when was the last woman murdered?"

"2007, _after_ Martin Thomas moved to the US. Doesn't mean he couldn't come back and do it though."

"It's a stretch," she muttered as she waited for her car to warm up. "Anything more on Thomas? Did any of his prints match the evidence?"

"No. If anything, it proved his innocence as well," Henri replied bitterly, sighing in frustration.

"Sorry," Gillian murmured, wishing she hadn't drug Henri into this. "If this whole mess is making your case load worse, don't hesitate to stop. I understand."

"Are you kidding? This is one of the most intriguing cases I've worked in years. Makes me remember why I got into this business in the first place. Besides, I get to spend all my free time talking with you, so I assure you it's not a hardship."

Gillian smiled at his words then frowned. He hadn't said as much, but she could tell that he enjoyed talking with her just as much as she did with him. It was nice, having someone removed from everyday life to vent to. He'd certainly gotten better at listening over the years.

"I've got to get going, I have a meeting with Bobby and Zoe about their client."

"Talk to you later then?" His hope was undeniable. She needed to keep her distance. Had to.

"I'm not making any promises."

"How could I forget? You hate making those."

"You know me," she replied as she rolled her eyes.

"I guess it's good to know that some things never change. Bye."

"Bye."

Twenty minutes later and Gillian found herself outside the Law Offices of Landau and Donnell. Glancing at the clock, she frowned at her earliness as she gathered her things and climbed out of her car.

Just before entering the office, she received a voicemail from her D.O.D. contact. She marveled at the timeliness of his call.

"Hey John?... It's Gillian… You spoke with Cal? Okay, sure, I can send the demo over tomorrow morning… One more thing… I was wondering if you could run a check on someone for me…"

After finishing her call, Gillian took a seat in the waiting room outside the office. Glancing at the wall, she wondered what had possessed Zoe to purchase such a ghastly piece of office art.

"Dr. Foster? I was wondering when I'd see you again." It was Le Fort. He was standing before her, dressed impeccably with his glasses perched on top of his head as he rolled up his newspaper.

"Monsieur Le Fort," she smiled… slowly at him. "How've you been? Ready for the trial?"

He grinned and took the seat opposite her in the small waiting room. There were only four chairs and a small table in the center. Still, she was grateful for that tiny table.

"Can anyone be truly ready for a group of strangers to decide his fate?"

"But you're innocent," a flicker of _something _at his innocence. "All you need to do is let Bobby do what he does best," she replied, trying her best to be timid. She probably came across as anxious. That could work too.

"Yes, well. Forgive me, but it's not Mr. Donnell I'm worried about."

"The jury?"

"Of course. I know it would help my cause to give over the guilty party, but," Le Fort paused and she watched something akin to doubt cross his features. "I have my reasons for remaining silent."

"Can you share any of them?"

Le Fort hesitated, but it was far too calculated for it to be sincere. He was doing this on purpose. "The actual killer… he's an important man. It would be quite dangerous on my part to even insinuate his participation."

He was good, she'd give him that much. He was playing with her. He wanted to see if she knew who the killer really was. Well, she was here for him, and him alone.

"I guess we'll just have to make sure that everyone knows it wasn't you then," she said quietly, giving him a soft smile. He held her gaze for a moment, his grey eyes cold and piercing. She tried to look away, but found it difficult to break contact. So she returned his gaze, allowing him to think he caught her before she shied away.

This must be what it felt like to be hunted.

Fortunately, Loker pushed through the entrance with his equipment, Torres in tow. Gillian hoped she wasn't blushing, but figured it was a given at this point. She hoped to God whatever she just risked had been worth it.

"Ready?" Loker asked as he gave her a questioning glance. Gillian ignored Torres, not wanting her scrutiny.

"Yes, we can set up in the conference room." Gillian collected her purse and stood, giving Le Fort a quick glance then led the way from the waiting area.

Of course, Torres spoke up once the door was closed. "What just happened?"

Gillian sighed as she pulled out reports on each of the witnesses they'd be preparing that afternoon. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do," Torres replied stubbornly. She was worse than Cal sometimes. "You do remember that he's a murder suspect, right?"

"Excuse me?" Gillian tried to hide her shock, but found it difficult. Did they really think her that stupid?

"What Torres is _trying to say_," Loker said as he placed a hand on the table, propping his other on his waist. "Is that, you seemed to be having a… _ moment_… with a suspected killer."

They did. Fantastic. Absolutely resenting the implication, the look she gave both Torres and Loker dispelled any notions to what they might have seen. Who needed words when she could freeze a man with a look?

"Get set up," Gillian stated curtly just as Bobby entered.

"Where's Zoe?"

"She's going over some details with Le Fort. She'll be in later. Can I talk to you for a second?"

There was anxiety in his voice that drew her immediate concern. Gillian kept her face blank, but was inwardly cringing at what Loker and Torres were undoubtedly thinking. Rising, she followed him into the hall outside the conference room.

"We've got a problem. One of the key witnesses just dropped out."

"Did he give a reason?"

"They don't have to. I mean, I can imagine why, but I don't know a hundred percent."

Gillian knew this had to do with the real killer. "What aren't you telling me?"

Bobby clenched his jaw and she knew she wasn't going to get anywhere. "I can't share those details and you know it."

"Fine. Give me something to work with then."

"I may be able to get one more witness, but you'll have to prep her Friday morning… before the trial."

Gillian deflated. That was less than ideal. Still, she was invested. Even if she thought something was incredibly suspicious about Le Fort, she would do this for Bobby. Well, she would do this for Lindsay, but Bobby by proxy.

Two of the witnesses appeared and Gillian found herself agreeing before she had a chance to process. "Fine, but don't forget this."

"I won't," Bobby said with a bright smile. "I promise. Ready to get started?"

"Ready as ever." Gillian let the first witness enter and followed him inside as Bobby brought up the rear.

.::.::.

"Foster. Just the woman I've been looking for," Cal breezed into her office, looking inhumanly chipper. He must've had sex last night. That or new porn. It was always a toss up with him.

"How can I help you?"

"It's more like, how can _I_ help you?" Cal slouched into a chair, watching as she sorted her piles. His tone made her nervous.

"What did you do?"

"Hey, I haven't done a thing… yet. Just took a look at your D.O.D. project."

Gillian stopped mid-step. They did not interfere with each other's projects. That wasn't a rule; that was the standard. She gave him a warning look.

"Thank you for the offer, but I can handle it. I spoke with Bradford, he's already gotten the material he needs for his demo."

Cal nodded, but that didn't seem to be all. She wasn't sure if she wanted to open up the floor for discussion or not.

"Sleeping okay?"

Oh, for goodness sake. "No, not really, but you already knew that."

"Busy afternoon?" Cal asked casually as he cocked his head to the side.

"Lunch with Bobby, back to the office for witness prep, then I wrap up the day with Torres. I have two graduate students coming by tomorrow afternoon, will you be around?"

"Yeah, give me a call. I'll put the fear into 'em," Cal said as he rubbed his hands on the arms of the chair then pushed himself up. "It's been swell, thanks for the chat."

Then he was gone. She _hated _when he did that. She was having one conversation while his was completely different. He liked to come in her office sometimes, sit quietly, and watch her. He'd get an idea of her entire world by a ten-minute observation session. Whatever just happened, it was well above her head. He probably knew when she was going to have a headache and when she was going to eat dinner too.

.::.

"_What are you thinking about?"_

"_Dinner," Luc replied. "Life is much better when you're here. Henri doesn't mope. He cooks and laughs and acts human. He's much more pleasant this way."_

"_So you only keep me around because I'm good for Henri? I thought it was for my company," Gillian smiled as she stirred the pot._

"_Of course it's for your company. Why else would I be here without Henri? I consider you to be one of my best friends."_

_Gillian rolled her eyes. Luc was excellent at providing lip service. Still, she knew this to be truth. They really were good friends, with or without Henri. Luc was the romantic, the poet with a soft heart and a penchant for giving it away too easily. He had blue eyes just like hers and often times they got mistaken for brother and sister. _

"_So, it's been a solid two-months, time enough for you to be settled. How do you like the job?"_

_Gillian leaned against the counter and took a long sip of her white wine. She shrugged and motioned her hand in a wobble fashion._

"_So-so?" Luc asked. "I thought working this __was exactly what you wanted. What's the name of it again? I thought you were with World Bank."_

"_It's a branch — the International Bank for Reconstruction and Development. It is what I wanted. I like knowing that my work is benefiting others, it just feels so impersonal because I don't actually get to see if I'm actually making a difference."_

"_I assure you," Luc rose and topped off his glass. "I've never known anyone to touch so many lives without even trying, Gill. It may be impersonal, but you said so yourself, you _get_ numbers and strategy. You like the behind-the-scenes stuff. Would you really want to be out in the trenches, dealing with the politics surrounding all this?"_

_Gillian reflected quietly. It made her seem so stiff and austere. But she truly believed her work was helping someone, somewhere. Still, her job was plenty political. She was one of two females in her division and the youngest employee by eight years. She'd been dubbed, ever so unfavorably, the wunderkind. _

"_I guess not," Gillian sighed as she pulled out the plates and set the table for the three of them. She and Henri took turns cooking, but tonight was special, Henri had news. Well, both he and Luc had news. That never boded well. Last time that happened, they spent three hours at the hospital waiting for Luc to get his chin stitched up._

"_Mmmmm. Something smells delicious." Speak of the devil. Henri entered the kitchen his tie already tugged loose as he walked up and kissed Gillian. He pulled away and smiled at her, grabbing her glass and taking a sip of her wine. "Ugh, Riesling. I will never understand how you like this stuff so much."_

"_Blame Luc, he's the one who brought it over," Gillian turned to Luc who was grinning at them, arms crossed on the counter. _

"_I had to get her primed for the news," Luc said as he held up his hands innocently. "Speaking of, how about we get that out of the way so we can fully enjoy this meal."_

"_Spoken like someone who has a right to be guilty," Gillian stated suspiciously. "Okay, out with it. What's going on?"_

_Henri shot Luc a glare as he pulled a beer out of the fridge. She'd been hoping this was good news. Their hesitation only meant one thing. Henri took his time opening the bottle, then took a long swig and set it on the counter. _

_He grabbed both her hands as he glanced at Luc. "You know we're doing away with conscription her in Belgium, right?"_

"_Conscription? Like… compulsory enlistment into the armed forces?"_

"_Yeah, just like that. Well, it's being phased out… Unfortunately Luc was called up almost a month ago."_

_Gillian didn't react. She was waiting for the other shoe to drop. _

"_I… I didn't want him to go through it alone, so I also signed up."_

"_You did what!" Gillian broke from his grasp and backed away quickly. "Are you forgetting that the US just ended a war? That I have friends coming back from the Persian Gulf as we speak, and you're jumping at the opportunity to send yourself into danger?"_

"_Gill. Don't get angry, just hear him out," Luc pleaded. He was always the more level-headed of the three of them. She glared at Luc and he wisely kept his mouth shut. _

"_It won't even be a full-blown year, and I get a sabbatical from work. We don't have to move or anything. Other than me putting on a uniform, you won't even know that I'm in it."_

_She stood there, completely gobsmacked. This was not what she'd been expecting at all. Maybe something like, _Luc had a girlfriend, or Luc came into some money and was taking them on a trip._ Not, _Luc had talked her boyfriend into joining the army.

"_Did you think of discussing this with me first?"_

"_Every single day."_

"_Then why didn't you?"_

"_Because I knew you'd be able to talk me out of it, and I don't want to get talked out of it."_

_Gillian crossed her arms and shook her head. She couldn't even articulate her anger. So, she did the second best thing. She turned away and grabbed her purse, pushing past Henri and Luc, both looking sheepish._

"_Gillian, c'mon. Don't leave. We need to talk about this..."_

"_Why bother? You already made your decision."_

_She let the door slam behind her on the way out._

.::.

Cal was worried. By nature, Foster was this effervescent person. No matter how awful things got, she seemed to rebound pretty quickly. He never fully understood what she did with her grief or her despair. She shared a lot with him, but she had her limits, just as he did.

For someone who didn't want to take this case, she was working awfully hard to prove Le Fort's innocence. It could be a combination of reasons, many of them being complicated. All he knew was that there was a very real possibility that Le Fort would be found guilty, and he felt that Foster wouldn't handle that well.

The lights were low at the office, but hers shone brightly, a lone beacon calling him home. He tapped on her door, watching as she peered up at him blearily. He wagered that she'd just had a cat nap.

"Knew you'd forget to eat," he mumbled as he set some take-out on her coffee table. Cal pulled out bottles of water and salads while she padded over to him barefoot, curling up in the chair beside him.

"What're you up to?"

"Grant proposal. It's nearly time for me to reapply," she murmured. "I have no idea where the hours in my day keep going."

"Same place as mine — down the drain. Why didn't you tell me Thanksgiving was next week?"

"Because I see you for ten minutes every day and during that time my mind is in five places at once."

"Need to do somethin' 'bout that."

"What? Me being scatterbrained?"

"No, only seein' you for ten minutes. When did we stop working together?"

"When you shouldered me with a case that you wanted to take all for the sake of spying on your ex-wife's new partner."

"Sounds rather sordid. Better get those facts straight."

She grinned at him before she took a bite. "Noted."

They ate in silence, Cal with his thoughts, Gillian with hers. All he could discern was that she was exhausted and mildly stressed.

"Stop worrying," she murmured as she closed up the box and slid it inside the bag.

"I'm not."

"Sure." she shook her head regardless, smiling as he revealed another bag.

"You're too good to me." Foster glowed as she lifted out a small container of chocolate mousse. Unbeknownst to her, it was made out of tofu and far healthier than it had any reason to be, but that was his and the chef's secret.

Cal settled back in his chair and opened a couple of the files she been working on with Bobby, adding sporadic notes. As soon as she finished, Foster returned to her desk and continued working on her grant proposal. Sometime later, Foster's voice broke through the silence.

"Hey Cal?"

"Hmmm?"

"Thanks."

He glanced over at her and nodded; reveling in the warm smile she sent his way. That smile alone was his sole reason for being here. It reassured him that all was well in her world, and by default, his own. For the time being, at least.

.::.::.::.::.

A/N: 1. Did a fair amount of research for this regarding Gillian's job as well as all that conscription business. There will be more details... later, but that's all for now. 2. Thanks for waiting patiently guys, I know this wasn't that fun of a chapter, but it had to happen. 3. Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

The Lies we Tell (10/?)

.::.

Gillian was in a good mood. Odd, considering the trial was to begin the next day and she had to spend a majority of it helping to prove Le Fort's innocence. It was no small feat, working on ways to make Bobby's witnesses sound and look sincere. Not only that, but she also had an investigation with Torres about a family company that may or may not be slipping into corrupt hands.

"Foster, can I ask you something?" From the passenger seat of Gillian's car, Torres had her nose buried in a file, but the tone of her voice told Gillian that _she_ was Torres' focus.

"You just did." Gillian smiled at the look she received. She had no idea why she was so playful today. A good night's sleep could do that for a person.

"Why don't I work as many cases with you as I do with Lightman?"

"You're the natural. You should work with the best in order to develop your talent."

"Yes, but…. You're a much better teacher."

"Lightman teaches; you just don't realize it. He's much more a teacher through immersion. Think about all you've learned in the past few years. A majority of that was with him, right?"

"Yeah," Torres frowned. "But I _feel_ like I learn so much more when I'm with you. I retain it better… or something. Like when we worked on all that virtual reality stuff**. **I got a lot out of that and it was beyond interesting. I mean… how did you even get involved in that kind of research?"

Gillian glanced at Torres and could tell it was pure curiosity. She wasn't trying to figure her out or put a puzzle piece in place.

"I did my graduate work with one of the foremost researchers on PTSD. Keep in mind, when I went through grad school, a lot of soldiers had returned from the Gulf War and experienced many complications as a result. They provided an easily accessible focus for research."

"So your graduate work went that direction because there were plenty of young, good looking men with psych problems?"

Gillian smiled at Torres pointed inflection. She was still so young. "Something like that, yeah."

"Do you still have your dissertation?"

Gillian's eyebrows shot upward. "I haven't been asked that in ages. Yes, it's in some dark, dusty corner of my office. I doubt you'd get much from it, mainly because a lot of that research is null now."

"Yes, but everyone has a beginning, right?"

Gillian pulled into the parking spot and glanced at the younger woman. "Yes, we all have to start somewhere."

As they walked into their meeting, Gillian couldn't help but feel a little more kinship with Torres. She had so much potential, so many ideas. Gillian then realized the point Torres was making. Cal was only taking care of the _natural_ part of Torres' abilities. Torres was looking to Gillian to help cultivate the necessary academic portion of her learning. Without any direction, she'd continue on making baseless judgments.

.::.

_It was a dreary Sunday, Gillian was stretched out on the couch, her head pillowed in Henri's lap. They were trading newspapers and coffee at odd intervals. She stopped when she felt his gaze on her._

_"What?"_

_"Nothin'" He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her temple then sat back up and resumed his perusal of the paper. She combed her fingers in his and pressed them close to her chest. _

_"Know what we haven't done in a while? Had an adventure," Gillian murmured._

_"Are you kidding? Everyday with you is an adventure."_

_"You only say that because you fear for your life every morning before i get my coffee."_

_"You got that right." He smiled as she smacked him on the thigh. "Give me a few minutes. I'll think of something."_

_"Make sure it involves my galoshes. There's rain in the forecast."_

_"As you wish, Miss Gillian."_

.::.::.

Cal had a raging headache. In about five minutes it was going to get ten times worse. He'd just left a meeting with Zoe and Donnell. They looked awfully chummy. Didn't sit well with him. Then Zoe shot him a look that would make lesser men piss their pants, so he backed off.

Zoe was to appear shortly with Emily to discuss Thanksgiving plans. Cal hardly cared at this point. He'd have preferred to hole himself up in the cavern of his house and emerge once winter was over. He bet Foster would love that.

"Cal?" speaking of, in she walked with Torres, both looking rather satisfied.

"Don't you two look rather proud? What's the good word?"

"Torres made a grown man cry," Foster stated with a coy smile as both she and Torres took a seat opposite him. "It was beautiful. We entered the conference room, she sized them up, cleaned out half the staff in a couple minutes, then had the President of the company in tears in no time."

Cal glanced over at Torres. She looked almost humble. It was a nice look on her. Perhaps it was Foster's praise. He wasn't sure why he needed to care though.

"Glad she's finally pullin' her weight around here," Cal sad as he shifted in his chair. "What was the case about?"

"We had a pair of siblings come to us —" Foster started.

"And they said their math wasn't matching up to what the company was reporting —"

"So they gave us a list of likely suspects —"

"and told us to show up to the board meeting this morning."

"Torres shouldered most of it. I started to wonder why I was even there."

"Oh please, you were the one who said it was the father."

"It was a joke, and I was basing it off his awful tie selection, nothing worthwhile."

Cal was dizzy watching their back-and-forth. He wondered why he was even there.

"Glad you both had a fun-filled morning, but what was the result?"

"It was the father, definitely," said Torres. "He'd been embezzling funds and routing them to an off-shore account for his mistress."

Cal glanced at Foster who nodded in agreement with Torres. "Such a family man, their father. I hope this siblings were grateful then?"

"So grateful that they gave us a twenty percent bonus!" Torres smiled brightly. Cal wasn't sure if Foster's good mood was rubbing off on Torres or if they were just feeding off each other. Either way, it was making his headache go away.

"_Bonus_. I love that word, it almost always means good things," Cal grinned at Foster who was undoubtedly thinking of bonus sized candy bars. "Anything else to report or did you two just want the pleasure of my company?"

"Torres and I were discussing this in the car earlier," Foster said as she glanced at Torres. "I was wondering if you'd agree to designating about fifteen hours of her work week for my PTSD project."

Cal had no idea why Foster was coming to him with this, unless it was to make sure that he didn't try to steal Torres away when he felt like it. "Do what you like, I thought you were in charge of all that scheduling nonsense anyway."

"You know what I mean," Gillian rolled her eyes at Cal and Torres smiled, clearly pleased that she'd get to work on this project. He found it odd that she'd be interested in the work, mainly because it had absolutely nothing to do with her personal development.

"I repeat, do what you like," Cal said just as Zoe walked in with Emily. He caught the way Zoe's eyebrow raised as he said the words to Gillian. That headache mysteriously reappeared

"Gillian, Ria, how are you both?" Zoe asked as she sauntered up to Cal's desk.

"We're fantastic," Torres smiled as she stood. "I've got to fax off this invoice, so I'm going to get out of the way."

"Actually, before you leave," Emily said quickly. "Are you going to be around on Thanksgiving?"

Cal watched surprise cross Torres' features. Beautiful it was.

"Yes?"

"Mom and I are making a huge meal on Thursday and we wanted to invite the office. Bobby's coming anyway, so we figured we'd extend the offer to everyone."

Cal watched Foster who seemed more amused by this situation than he'd have liked. She must be remembering his apron from last year. He thought it was quite becoming.

"Sure, that'd be great. I'm don't get to see my sister until Christmas anyway. What time?"

Emily glanced at Zoe who stepped in to take over. "It'll be at four o'clock at Cal's house, I _believe_ you know where that is?"

The sheer snark in Zoe's tone told Cal two things: 1) she knew what had happened when Torres appeared drunk one night 2) she planned to have fun with Torres. Cal swallowed at the thought of Zoe toying with Torres. It was going to be an interesting Thanksgiving.

"Yes. Yes I do. I'm… going to go now. Thanks!"

Frowning at Zoe, Cal glanced at Foster whose smile seemed to have dimmed at the mention of that night. That whole week brought to mind several unpleasant memories.

"So, you're coming too, right Gillian? Loker said he'd come as long as we don't make him eat pineapple ice cream."

Gillian quirked her head to the side as she looked to Cal questioningly. "It's a long story, but you'd probably like it, just because it has more sugar than flavor."

"You think you're so funny," Gillian replied as she stood and turned to Zoe. "You're really going to host Thanksgiving for all of us and Bobby?"

"Of course. I welcome any opportunity to create socially awkward situations that wreak havoc on Cal's mind," Zoe retorted.

"How much wine should I bring?"

"Enough to make them forget the entire day," Emily quipped. Both Cal and Zoe shot her a look of disbelief. Then he caught the shared look of commiseration between Gillian and Emily.

"Hey, I saw that," Cal barked as Gillian's cell phone rang. She glanced at the screen then smiled apologetically.

"I've got to take this. See you at the office later, Zoe?"

Zoe nodded as Gillian headed towards the doorway. Zoe started talking, but Cal was distracted by Gillian's conversation. She was speaking in French and her voice dropped a decibel or two. _Curious_.

_.::.::._

_"Rough day?"_

_"Yeah," Gillian said as she slumped into her chair. it was past nine and she'd been pulling fourteen hour days for the past week. Henri rose from his position at his desk and went into the kitchen. He emerged with her dinner and a glass of wine._

_"I don't know what I'd do without you," she smiled up at him as he set down her dinner. This job was literally wearing her to the bone._

_"I'm pretty sure you'd wither away," Henri replied as he took the seat next to her and pulled her feat into his lap. Slipping off her shoes, he started to massage her aching feet._

_"Babe, your feet? Wow." Gillian pulled her feet out of his lap and nudged him in the thigh as he made a stink face. _

_"Hey, you try wearing high heels all day, it's a lot harder than it looks."_

_"Pretty sure your black pumps wouldn't go with my uniform."_

_"But wait," Gillian said as he pulled her feet back into his lap. "I do believe you owe me on a bet."_

_"You can't be serious."_

_"Of course I am," Gillian replied as she took a sip of her wine. "I do not joke of such matters."_

_.::._

"… and that, ladies and gentlemen, is why you should find my client, Jean Le Fort, innocent."

"It's good, I like it," Gillian said from her position in Bobby's chair, trying not to clap. He truly was a great speaker. He should run for office. With his fervor and good looks, he'd be a shoo—in. It almost made her regret not pursuing law. _Almost_.

"Is this coming from a layman, or experienced ears?"

"I know a thing or two about opening arguments," Gillian smiled as Bobby took a seat across from her. "My father was a lawyer."

Bobby seemed genuinely surprised by this rare admission. "That makes a lot of sense."

"Why?"

"In my experience, when I mention what I do, people either say that they come from a family of lawyers and they hate it, or that they went _into_ law because they come from a family of lawyers."

"And then there's you," Gillian said as she picked through the file while Bobby read over her notes on his opening argument.

"And then there's me," Bobby circled a line and mumbled to himself as he read over the words. "Do you think you'll have any problems with that spur-of-the moment witness prep tomorrow?"

"No. Who suggested her? Le Fort?"

"She came forward, actually. She's pretty solid from a defense perspective, and all I need is for her to paint the scene and provide that doubt that we need the jury to feel."

"I heard Zoe wants to use Cal," said Gillian. "I'd discourage that if I were you. Cal tends to be a bit of a wild-card when on the witness stand."

"I'd say he was a wild-card in everything he does. What are we supposed to do about Thanksgiving on Thursday?"

"Sit back and watch the show?"

Bobby grinned at her words and shrugged in agreement. "When are you coming tomorrow?"

"I'll try to be there for opening arguments, but I have no idea what'll happen after. I have a side-project that's picking up and is requiring a bit more of my attention."

"Got it. I'm going to run through this once more," Bobby said as he stood. "Let me grab Zoe, she's great for dry-runs."

Gillian checked her voice-mail as Bobby left. One message was from Henri and two were from John Bradford, her D.O.D. contact. She'd known John almost ten years, vacationed with him and his wife when she'd been married to Alec. He was one of the reasons her program came to fruition. He was very connected and very discreet. She just hoped he'd have news regarding her other query.

"Gillian," Zoe said as she entered, "I'm surprised you're still here. Getting late, isn't it?"

"You're right," Gillian smiled, silently thanking Zoe for an easy out. "I actually need to swing by the office, so I'll leave you both to what you do best."

"Oh," Bobby frowned quickly. "Okay. See you in the morning."

"Wouldn't miss it. Night Zoe, Bobby."

On her way home, Gillian listened to her messages, wondering if it was too late to call John. She dialed his number, hoping there was good news to report.

.::.

_"You're homesick, aren't you?"_

_"What?" Gillian glanced over at Luc, who was peering at her over his coffee cup. His eyes were bloodshot from a night out on the town._

_"By my calculation, Thanksgiving is fast approaching. I do believe it was when your countrymen shared a lovely meal with the natives right before you infected them with small pox and ravaged their lands."_

_"Yes, I believe you are correct," Gillian rolled her eyes at Luc, who merely gave her a cockeyed smirk as he set his aching head in his hands._

_"Do you think Henri has been acting strange lately?" _

_Luc peeked at her through one eye. "Stranger than normal, you mean? Perhaps he's stir crazy. You know he likes to hit the road every once in a while."_

_"Do you… do you think I'm holding him back?'_

_Luc sat up at this, shaking his head at Gillian. "Gill, if anything, he feels like he's holding you back. He knows about the Paris job that you turned down for him."_

_"It wasn't for him. I took several things into consideration when I took this job. I'm here because I'm closer to all of you and because I get to help people."_

_"Yeah, and look what it's gotten you — sitting here, propping me up on a Saturday morning, working from sun-up to sun-down, somehow doubting how good you are for your boyfriend."_

_Gillian sighed loudly and shook her head. "I'm so glad i have you to put my life into perspective."_

_"Hey, it's what best friends are for. Now, chin up, I need you to spot the bill. Wisdom isn't cheap."_

_"Best friend indeed."_

_.::._

"I have good news to report!" Gillian smiled as she heard Henri's laughter on the other end. "Well, not good news, per se, but _helpful _news."

"I like helpful. What do you have?"

"Martin Thomas is not nearly as innocent as he seems. He had a domestic partner for a couple years. She so happens to be a witness that I'm prepping tomorrow morning before court."

"_Domestic Partner? _Nice terminology. Is the woman American or Belgian."

"Even better. She's from central Europe. You know how heavy the trafficking industry is over there."

"You know that makes things more difficult on my end, right?"

"I thought you had a buddy over at Interpol."

"By buddy, I meant ex-girlfriend. And I'm pretty sure she doesn't want to scour the earth looking for scumbags. She has a nice, cushy office job now."

By the roughness in his voice, Gillian could tell that this ex was either recent or was a sore topic for him. Either way, there was a sense of inferiority there.

"Anyone else you can call?"

"Yeah, send me what information you have on the woman and I'll see what I can do when I get into work in the morning. So the trial starts tomorrow?"

"Yeah, Zoe has no idea how long it'll run, but the witness list is pretty short overall, so I don't see it taking longer than two weeks or so."

"Two weeks." She could practically hear the wheels churning in Henri's head. "Then what?"

"Then we hopefully have enough information to figure out if Martin Thomas is really up to no good," she replied evasively. She knew Henri was talking about something else, but she needed to keep his focus on this case. "Which reminds me. I also learned that he has some land in central Virginia in the Blue Ridge Mountains."

"Woah, slow down. Before you go off on a wild-goose chase, you need to take someone with you. Don't scary things happen in those mountains?"

"You've been watching too many horror movies, it's a great drive and the mountains are gorgeous. I'll be fine."

"Gill —"

"I've got to go," she hedged. "Call me tomorrow if you find out any more about the woman."

"Sure. Fine. Bye."

Gillian hated when he got frustrated with her. It was akin to the way she felt when she was younger and she made her dad angry, back when she actually cared what he thought.

When Gillian finally climbed into bed that night, she found herself amazed at all that had been accomplished. She purposefully ignored the niggling sensation of fear in the back of her mind. Taking a quick drive this weekend wouldn't be a problem. As she settled in, she prayed for another night of Henri-less dreams.

No such luck.

.::.

_Gillian beat her head against the wall as she hung up the phone, wishing she could strangle the disappointed voice on the other end._

_"Why do you let him get to you like that?" Henri asked as he walked up behind her, wrapping his hands around her waist._

_"You don't understand. My father… his sole purpose in life is to get under my skin. Once he's there, it's to burrow these festering pits of animosity."_

_"Nice visual," Henri murmured as he kissed her neck. "I've met your dad, I thought he was pretty charming."_

_"That's because you weren't there later, when he was four drinks deep and calling me a worthless sack of shit."_

_"I don't believe that," Henri replied, his voice very serious now. "At least you can still talk to your dad."_

_"Don't. Don't do that. Don't guilt me into wishing i had a better relationship with my father just because yours passed away. Your dad was actually a good man. I will never be able to say that about mine."_

_"You really need to let go of the past," Henri said as she pulled away from him, heading to their bedroom._

_"Oh yeah? You first," she shut the bathroom door and immediately cursed herself for her hateful words. When she emerged from her shower a short while later, she walked up to Henri sitting in his chair. He glanced up at her when she took his book and curled up in his lap, burrowing her face in his neck. _

_"You didn't deserve that," she whispered. "Sorry."_

.::.::.

Cal took his seat in the back of the courtroom. Gillian had yet to arrive, but he wasn't surprised, she'd been waiting for that other witness to arrive when he left for court.

He glanced down the row at Loker and Torres, both sitting a reasonable distance apart, both doing their jobs. The whole reason they were here was to observe, just like they always did. However, the money was in Foster. She needed to be around if the real killer showed up and happened to be stupid enough to talk.

Court was called into session and the judge, a stern looking bloke in his sixties, took his honorable chair. Cal hated all this formality. He watched as Zoe and Donnell conferred quietly, and then sized up Le Fort who sat stoically in his seat, taking in the sights.

Donnell stood and buttoned his coat, glancing back to the door only once. Cal knew he was looking for Foster. He bet it was because Foster would pass along Donnell's progress to his ex-wife. Cal rolled his eyes. He couldn't imagine what it'd be like to be married to Lindsay Dole. From all accounts, she seemed like Foster's complete opposite.

A soft, Foster-sized hand on his shoulder prompted Cal to slide over. Considering the lack of space, poor Foster was squished pretty tightly against him. Not that he minded. Actually, he found that every part of her body that was pressed against his was uncommonly warm... in a good way, of course.

Somewhere after Donnell's surprisingly good opening and the prosecutor's decidedly less than stellar turn, Foster crossed her legs. That was about the time Cal stopped paying attention. She wore this woolen skirt with a lovely slit that showed a slip of leg that he hadn't had the opportunity to ponder for quite some time. It also didn't help that her foot would occasionally rub against his leg. Never mind that he just so happened to be taking up a fair bit of space for this exact purpose.

Unfortunately, Foster seemed to grow aware of his observation because she nudged him in the arm with her elbow then covered her lap with her coat. _Spoilsport_. It didn't matter anyway; save for opening arguments, the first day was moot. It was such a shoddy time to start a trial — right before the holidays. However, it promised expediency because the jurors didn't like to deliberate longer than necessary.

Recess was called and they all filed out to meet for a nice tête-à-tête. Cal just hoped he wouldn't have to congratulate Donnell on a job well done.

.::.

"Cal won't say as much, but he thinks you did very well," Gillian said as she bumped Cal in the arm and smiled at Bobby.

"Thanks, I think," Bobby smiled back at her and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I think the rest of the day is pretty much shot if you want to take off, I know you have a lot of stuff to take care of."

"I'll stick around for a little while longer," Gillian replied as Cal looked over at her.

She hoped she wasn't still blushing. She'd spent the last half hour in the courtroom wondering how long Cal was going to stare at her legs. Apparently he could make a hobby out of it, because the longer he looked, the warmer she got. He could be such a cad sometimes. Though, she guessed it was better than him ogling the prosecutor, who was certainly his type.

Gillian and the others let Bobby and Zoe discuss while the team grabbed some coffee. She found herself largely distracted throughout the course of conversation, primarily due to the witness she'd prepared. Fortunately, Bobby wouldn't need to use the witness until Monday now. It allowed Gillian to meet with the witness again over the weekend. This woman was the key to her puzzle. At least, that's what she hoped.

Other than that, Gillian could hardly see straight, mainly because of lack of sleep and a quick but pointed early morning conversation with Henri. It may not have been intentional, but coupled with her dreams — Henri was going to wear her out.

"All right there, Foster?" Cal peered over at her as they returned to the courtroom. Gillian gave him a smile, a practiced, assured smile. One that she'd developed for times like this.

"Yeah, great. Just a little distracted." She pointedly did not use _fine_. That word was code for 'no, not really, ask me again later when I'm ready.'

As she sat down next to Cal, now pressed tightly between him and Torres, she reflected on all that was going on. She was trying to prove the innocence of someone she believed to be a true criminal, she'd reconnected with her first love, and found herself attracted to her kamikaze partner at the most inopportune times. No matter how many times she told herself otherwise, she was not _fine._

_.::.::._

A/N: Not gonna lie. I'm losing my steam with this story. The five of you who actually care, let me know what's up. Other than that, thanks for reading._  
_


	11. Chapter 11

Title: The Lies We Tell (11/15)

Pairing: gen, possible C/G

Rating: K

Disclaimer: LtM not mine. Donnell is property DEK.

Summary: When Zoe brings a new case and a new partner to the Lightman Group, long-buried truths will be revealed as they work to defend an innocent man, while a side investigation could also place one partner in mortal peril.

A/N: The whole of the story is 86% complete, without edits. In non-writer terms, I hope to churn this puppy out shortly. Please be patient, I'm battling a fierce case of writer's block. Thanks for reading.

.::.::.

_They were lying in a field at a local park just after Thanksgiving dinner. Limbs sprawled aimlessly, Gillian's fingers traced the outline of the tattoo encircling Henri's wrist. He glanced over at her and smiled, one of those ridiculously full bodied, no holds barred kind of smiles. She immediately suspected something was amiss._

_"What are you up to?"_

_Henri continued to grin as he turned his head back to the sky, suddenly very quiet. Feeling brazen, she rolled on top of him and straddled his waist, watching as his eyes worked their way up to hers. Ever so delicately, he lifted up her hand and kissed her palm softly then placed it above his heart. Gillian's brows pinched together, wary of his actions. But when his eyes met hers, she felt like a sack of bricks hit her in the chest. _

_She wondered if this was what it was like, to tie one's soul to another._

_"Marry me." _

_Gillian's eyebrows shot upward. "Sorry?"_

_"You're right, I'm doing this wrong." Henri sat up, carefully easing her off his lap. He shoved his hand inside his pocket and pulled out a simple diamond ring. _

_"It was my grandmother's," he offered nervously. She placed her hand on his chest, smiling at him sympathetically. His heart was beating a mile a minute and she couldn't help but laugh as tears welled in her eyes. _

_"You know I can't do the sappy romantic stuff, that's all Luc," he whispered then swallowed hard. "Despite all we've been through, we've found our way back to each other time and again. That means something, right?"_

_Gillian nodded as he brushed a tear off her cheek. _

_"I've spent my whole life thinking that I didn't need anyone, that as long as I made everything an adventure, life wasn't so bad. But then I tried having adventures without you, and I realized that I was truly missing out, because you — you make it all worthwhile. I want you in my life forever and always. Through the good and the bad… everything. Gillian, will you marry me?"_

_"Yes," she whispered and immediately found herself lifted off the ground and spun in the air, the happy recipient of his kisses. They fell asleep that night, two people suffused with love for the other. _

_Two weeks later Henri's unit was assigned to the U.N. Peacekeeping mission in Rwanda. He was deploying in a month._

.::.::.

Gillian blew on her cup of coffee, trying to cool the brew. Icy conditions prevented her from making the trip further south to check out Le Fort's property. Gillian did the next best thing and scheduled a meeting to glean more information. She surveyed the other patrons of the coffee shop, ensuring that she hadn't been followed. The last couple days, she'd had that feeling that she was being watched. Every time she checked though, nothing.

The door chimed and in walked the witness that was supposed to go on Friday, but got pushed to Monday. Her supposed name was Ivana Ruzicka, but Gillian had her doubts. Making eye contact, Ivana bypassed the counter and slid into the chair opposite Gillian. She presented an air of frosty hostility, with her peeked nose, pale blue eyes, and white blond hair reinforcing the image.

"Better?" Gillian started as Ivana took in her surroundings.

"Much. Your office… far too open."

"Do you want any coffee?"

"No. I want to get this over with."

"Okay," Gillian nodded as she took out her recorder, the only device Ivana would agree to. "Are you prepared to testify in the defense of Jean Le Fort?"

No hesitation. "Yes."

"Are you being coerced to do so?"

"No." No hesitation, but there was a flicker of doubt. Her tone was even, however.

"Do you know who killed the victim?"

"I know the possibilities, but I did not witness the actual shooting."

So far so good. "Are you at will to name the… other possibilities?"

Fear. "No."

"Do you think any of them will appear at the trial? And if so, would you be willing to identify them?"

She faltered. Just as quickly her frozen ice queen front appeared. "Possibly."

Gillian nodded. She could work with _possibly_.

"Why don't you ask me what you really want to know?" Ivana cocked her head to the side, her hand slipping inside her bag. She pulled out a lighter and toyed with the lid. Nervous habit.

"Fair enough," Gillian took a sip of her coffee, wincing as it burned her tongue. "How long were you with Le Fort?"

"A year-and-a-half. We lived together."

"Who ended the relationship?"

"I did. He was… He was gone a lot. I wanted someone who was there." Truth.

"Was he ever harmful to you, verbally or physically?"

"Outside of sex? No. I like it rough." Fear. Contempt.

Gillian filed that away for later. "Did he ever take you to his property in central Virginia?"

Confusion. Doubt. "He… doesn't have any other property. He even rents his apartment."

"He never took you on any trips south of here, never mentioned any land?"

"We rode his motorcycle on the Blue Ridge Parkway a couple times, but… no. Nothing else. I do not think."

Ah. There. "Are you sure? You said he travels a lot. How do you know he didn't go to his property one weekend?"

Her eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't be asking if you didn't have proof. Let me see it."

Gillian sighed. This was a big risk, showing her the document. She pulled it out regardless and set it on the table.

"He's had this for… six years? I don't understand. Jean never mentioned it before." Ivana was genuinely perplexed. This was going nowhere.

"What else could he have been hiding then?" Gillian waited a beat before continuing. "One more thing. Since you and Le Fort work for the same company and you're the office manager, what was it they primarily traded?"

"Textiles mainly." Lie.

"Are you sure about that?"

Ivana leaned forward and shut off the recorder. She glanced around and looked Gillian directly in the eyes. "You need to be careful. You keep asking questions like that and you won't be able to talk anymore."

"I'll take it that whatever they're trading isn't exactly legal."

"I'm serious Dr. Foster."

"Can you tell me what it is?"

"No," she replied sternly. "Because I don't know. All I can say is that we have official shipments, and then we have _unofficial_ ones. I only manage the official shipments."

Gillian frowned. "Is there a way to find out?"

Ivana looked away, biting her lip as she flicked her lighter again. At first glance, Gillian would've said Ivana was in her late twenties with all the make-up and her world-weary eyes. But at that moment, she didn't look a day over eighteen. Young, vulnerable and in way over her head.

"This is important Ivana. I think you have an idea of what they're doing. Do really want to be associated with that?"

Ivana's gaze shot back to Gillian. "Give me a couple days. I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, Ivana. Really."

"Don't thank me, yet," she said as she stood and slung her handbag over her shoulder. "Watch yourself, you're messing around with the wrong people."

As the young woman left the coffee shop, Gillian sighed and leaned her head back against the wall. She was hearing that a lot lately.

.::.::.

It was the day before Thanksgiving. Cal would've loved to say the trial was exciting. That it was an edge of his seat nail biter. Not so much. The room was cold, the witnesses were bland, and everyone looked like they'd rather be somewhere else. Still, the trial was moving full speed ahead. He figured wrap up by the end of the following week.

Cal's plate was full with two other cases, one with Torres and the other was solo. The Torres case was bound to wrap up soon, he was just waiting for her to figure out who it was. He'd give her until Friday. If it took any longer, he'd pull her off Foster's project and sit her in front of the computer and make her watch interviews until her eyes bled.

Exiting the elevator, Cal spotted Foster walking towards the break room, apple in hand. Just the person he wanted to see. She was on the phone, turning from the sink just as Cal entered. "Non, je sais pas. Parce-que je need to go. I'll talk to you later."

Foster smiled, but Cal wasn't buying it. "No need to stop on my behalf. Belgian lover?"

"Sure," Foster replied wryly then took a bite out of her apple. "Don't forget, we have a group meeting in fifteen. How was court?"

She was backpedalling toward her office, but truly curious. "Boring. I scratched our names in a heart into the bench. Look for it next time you're there."

"Cal!"

"Kidding."

Throughout the staff meeting, Cal kept his eyes on Foster, looking for signs of tension in her shoulders, quickly offered smiles that didn't meet her eyes, the sideways shrug she did when perhaps not all was well in Fosterland.

Nothing.

It was business as usual. Except the phone call in French.

After reminding Torres and Loker when to show up at his house the next day, Cal remained seated as the room emptied, watching Foster carefully. She stood at the opposite end of the table collecting a stack of folders.

"Something on your mind?" Gillian had a knowing grin on her face.

Cal figured which approach to take. Sincere always worked best with Foster. "You can tell me, you know."

She stopped shuffling her papers and looked up at him, baffled. "Tell you what?"

"Whatever it is you have going on," Cal replied. "You can tell me."

She narrowed her eyes, eyebrows furrowing. Putting her hands on her hips she cocked her head to the side, matching his. Not even a shred of defensive posturing. Just curiosity.

"As much as I'd love to take you up on that offer, I'm doing alright, Cal. Thanks."

She gave him an assured smile then looked down. Her phone was vibrating. She picked up her files and gave him one last look, concerned this time.

"Gillian Foster."

.::.

"_Promise me that you'll take care of each other," Gillian whispered to Luc. _

_They were gathered with a group of friends at their favorite restaurant. Luc and Henri were shipping out the next day with a large contingent of Belgian officers. They were headed to Rwanda, where the civil unrest between the Hutus and Tutsis had garnered the attention of the U.N. Both Luc and Henri would be members of the peacekeeping mission._

"_Don't worry about Henri," Luc offered her a comforting smile as he rested his hand on her arm. "It's me you should be worried about."_

"_You? What for? You're the one that's a paratrooper. Who'd have thought you'd be good at all this?" _

"_Shocking, I know. Still, I don't have a beautiful woman to look forward to when I return."_

"_How about the night you get back, I'll take you and Henri out to dinner, just the three of us?"_

"_That may be more than my heart can handle," Luc whispered playfully as he slung an arm around her shoulder._

"_Hey, are you putting the moves on my fiancé?" Henri grinned at them from across the table. Gillian was fighting hard not to blush because his hand was stroking her foot, which she'd worked up his thigh moments earlier._

"_Wouldn't dream of it," Luc smiled as he gave Gillian a wet kiss on her temple. "Besides it's hard to be noticed when you've captured her heart so completely."_

"_God, stop it with that poetic nonsense," Henri replied as he moved his fingers along her ankle softly. "I'm pretty sure running around talking about that stuff is a good way to get slaughtered."_

_Gillian's smile slipped at his words. Their friendly banter continued on, but she sat quietly, feeling a tightness around her heart. The thought of parting wasn't what bothered her. It was the danger the two most important men in her life would face that was troubling._

_That night, she and Henri lay facing each other in the quiet blueness of night. Hands caressed planes of skin and soft curves, whispers of promises glided over shoulder blades, murmurs of ecstasy at reaching the essence of perfection. She believed that she'd never know the closeness of another human as she did at that moment; their hands placed over the other's heart, feeling the steady rhythm as they beat in time._

_In the morning, she woke to an empty apartment. On the pillow beside her was a yellow daisy and a note that made her cry for hours._

"_The day I first met you, I knew what it was to live for another. Please know that I love you. All of you. Your imperfections, your freckles, your laugh, your quirks. But of all the parts of you I treasure, your patience and your innate goodness are what I love the most. Thank you for trusting me enough to get to know the real you, the side that you keep closed off from the rest of the world. It's truly an honor. With all the love a poor sap like me can possess, Henri."_

.::.

It was late Thursday afternoon as Gillian pulled up in front of Cal's house. Hands full with bottles of wine and her purse, Gill frowned as her cell rang.

"Gillian Foster." She immediately regretted not checking to see who called. She wished she had more hands. Or better foresight.

"That name doesn't suit you. _Foster_. You sound like a real estate agent."

"I was wondering when I'd get this call, you're later than normal," Gillian said impatiently. "Have you been drinking?"

"Only a bit," Henri replied. "You knew it was me? All those other times?"

"Believe it or not, I'm pretty perceptive and so was Alec. You calling every year on the anniversary of our engagement wasn't too big a stretch."

"Huh."

Gillian absently tapped her back tire with her boot, waiting for Henri to say anything else. It was windy out. Cold too. He needed to speed up his yearly angst-fest.

"You know, it's a lot harder to read you now," by the way he slurred his words Gillian knew he was a little more than tipsy. "When we were younger I could never tell when you were lying, I'd just assume that it was likely. Now, I feel like all you do is tell the truth, and I still can't make heads or tails of anything."

Gillian exhaled slowly, wondering where he was going with this.

"That night was one of the best nights of my life," he whispered.

"I'll bet it was," she shot back, recalling what happened later that evening after he proposed.

"No. It wasn't because of the sex, though… that was pretty amazing," his tone bore the smile she couldn't see. "It was the look on your face. It was those few moments where you truly let down your guard. I could see all of you and you weren't afraid."

Henri exhaled sharply, letting out years of pent-up anguish. "When you said 'yes' I don't think I've ever felt more confident about anything in my life as I did at that moment."

Gillian looked at the ground and bit her lip. "Don't do this," she replied, the knot in her throat making it difficult to speak.

"Gill. I… can we just… I need to talk to you about all this."

"Not right now. I have a dinner to go to, and… we need to finish this case. After that, then we'll talk."

"Don't brush me off. I know what that means. Just hear me out, please?"

"Later." Gillian ended the call. Impeccable timing, that Henri Toussaint. Just then, Loker pulled up and parked right behind her. _Swell_. At least he could help her carry in the wine.

.::.::.

Emily answered the knock at the door as Cal took the pumpkin pie out of the oven. Both Loker and Foster entered, looking chilled from the frosty weather.

"Mmmm smells great." Gillian walked over to him and tugged at his new apron. "I like this one."

"Em' picked it out last Christmas. Said it brings out my eyes." Setting the pies near the open kitchen window, Cal turned around to find Loker handing off the last of the wine to Gillian. "Six bottles? It's Thanksgiving, not the last night before the start of prohibition."

"I asked Gillian to bring one extra," said Zoe as she entered the kitchen. "Bobby's bringing his neighbor as well, so I wanted to be safe."

"Still…" Cal frowned at the thought of one more _person_ at his table. This was all Zoe's doing. It was like she felt the need to take in everyone who needed a place to be for Thanksgiving. But did she offer her house? 'Course not.

"How can I help?" asked Foster.

"You can get yourself outta my kitchen and go watch your American football with Torres."

"Don't need to tell me twice," Loker grabbed a beer and headed into Cal's living room. Foster remained.

"Seriously, out with ya," he tried to shoo her away. "I've already got these two driven' me insane."

Emily scoffed while he felt the daggers Zoe sent his way. "It's the truth. Can't leave a man to cook in his own bloody kitchen."

"That's because you were going to make Shepard's Pie!" Zoe was still irked.

"I'll have you know that it's a family recipe."

A phone started ringing, sounded like Foster's from the sound.

"Excuse me," Gillian hopped off the stool and answered her phone. She was speaking in English this time, but was still quiet.

"Stop eavesdropping," Zoe berated. "Now, I want you to be on your best behavior when Bobby gets here. His father passed away around this time a couple years ago and he's still having a rough time. Please, take it easy. "

Cal glanced up at her and saw doubt and fear. He could understand the pain of having lost a loved one. Even if it was that tosser. Cal nodded and began carving the turkey.

When Foster returned, it was with Bobby and his neighbor. Cal immediately liked the neighbor, if only because he bore a t-shirt with _The Clash_ on it. He looked a bit rough around the edges, which surprised Cal, considering Donnell was the poster child for upper-middle class America.

"Cal, this is Scotty Pierce," said Bobby. "Scotty, Cal Lightman. You remember my partner, Zoe?"

"How could I forget? With legs like those it's a wonder you get any work done around her."

Cal watched as Zoe blushed and rolled her eyes, shaking Scotty's hand. If only Cal got a quarter for every time someone commented on her blasted legs.

"What's your poison?' Cal asked as he opened the fridge.

"Beer," Scotty and Bobby requested in unison.

"Suit yourselves. Game's on in the living room. I believe Foster can show you the way," Cal said as he received a pointed look from Foster.

Regardless, she led the gentlemen away and left him to do his worst on the turkey. Listening to Zoe and Emily's chatter, Cal pushed aside the fleeting sensation of loss. Then he heard an eruption of cheers from the family room and was reminded once again that sometimes, family wasn't nearly as conventional as it used to be.

.::.

Gillian was on her second glass of wine and half way through her meal. She didn't want to overdo it because she was heading to the shelter shortly. Surprisingly, she was having a good time, but found she wasn't able to focus as well as she'd have liked.

The table was impressively long, with Cal at one end and Emily at the other. Gillian was seated at Emily's end and couldn't be more relieved. The thought of having to bear Cal's scrutiny throughout the meal almost made her lose her appetite.

Bobby's friend Scotty was a blessing in disguise, for he was unaware of all the potential awkwardness and tension of this gathering. Aside from that, Cal appeared to have taken a liking to him, most likely for something petty, like his t-shirt selection or the tattoo on his neck. Together, they'd delved into a deep discussion on punk rock in the U.K. and who'd seen more impressive shows as teens. She was pretty sure Scotty was winning that competition.

"How are you doing?" Gillian asked quietly across the table where Bobby was sitting.

He glanced up and smiled, eyes a little bleary. "Not too bad, all things considered. Sad my team lost though. When do you have to go to the shelter?"

"In about an hour. We have the second shift, so it won't be too bad."

"Good," Bobby pushed his sleeves up and placed his elbows on the table, leaning a bit closer. "I talked to Linds earlier. She told me to say 'hi' and to '_enjoy the pie_' whatever that means."

Gillian smiled. "One year at Thanksgiving, Lindsay dared me to steal our Gram's pumpkin pie, which I skillfully did, mind you. Then she dared me to eat the whole pie."

"And you did?" Emily butted in, her eyes wide.

"Most of it. Then I got sick to my stomach and had to make a few trips to the restroom. Haven't been able to eat it ever since."

"That's… so sad," said Emily.

"And disgusting," observed Bobby. "I can't believe you were able to do that."

"I was never one for turning down a dare," Gillian admitted. It was a fault of hers; one that Lindsay took frequent advantage of in their youth.

"What'd your Gram do?"

"To me? Nothing," Gillian shrugged. "I blamed it on Lindsay."

"You lied!"

Loker, sitting next to Gillian, cut in. "Gillian's been known to do it a time or two. Though I always thought your reasons were noble."

"You didn't know my Gram. Exacting revenge and avoiding Gram's wrath _was_ noble in my nine-year old mind."

"Completely understandable," Emily blurted. "Now. Who wants pie? _Pumpkin _pie?"

Gillian smirked at Emily and shook her head as the others held up their hands.

"Do you have anything stronger than this lovely wine?" asked Scotty. "Some bourbon perhaps?"

"Sure thing," Cal said as helped Zoe collect the plates. "Who wants some?"

"Bobby and I do," replied Scotty. "What about you Gillian?"

"Definite 'no' for Foster. She hates the stuff," Cal stated as he looked to Loker, who nodded while Torres wisely requested coffee.

"I'll have coffee as well." Gillian requested. Emily entered with several plates balanced precariously on her arms. "I'm impressed Emily. Do you have a job you haven't told us about?"

Gillian didn't even think about what the 'us' implied, though based on Emily's expression, it suggested Gillian and Cal. Glad that Zoe wasn't near to seize _that_ opportunity, Gillian gave Emily a measured look.

"No," Emily replied, receiving Gillian's message loud and clear. "I'm just good at handling a lot of things at one time."

Instead of returning to his previous seat, Cal entered with another set of plates and usurped Emily's chair. He set a piece of apple pie with crumb topping in front of her, murmuring, "Mum's recipe."

Gillian wasn't hungry, not even a little. She hadn't saved room for dessert because she assumed it'd just be coffee for her. Then Cal made pie. Correction. He made _her_ a pie. Scratch that. He made _her_ his _mum's_ pie. He might as well have said, "Zoe, let's have an argument in front of all these people about how much I favor Fostah."

Eying him warily, she found him largely innocent and took a bite for his trouble.

"Wow. This… you've been holding out on me, Cal Lightman," Gillian licked the crumbs off her fork and took another bite, missing the way Cal's eyes followed the flight pattern of her fork. "Why didn't you tell me you had a recipe?"

"Never came up," he replied as he took a gulp of his bourbon and set it on the table. Then he leaned over a little as conversation carried around the table, Zoe and Emily chatting with Scotty and Loker about who knows what. "Anything the matter?"

Gillian was half way through her slice, but two things turned her stomach and reinforced that she needed to leave. 1) Cal's breath smelled strongly of bourbon. He wasn't lying earlier. She _hated_ the smell of bourbon almost as much as she hated the drink itself. 2) Cal was looking at her like he was trying to unravel her frayed ends.

Calmly, so as not to even raise the slightest interest, she set down the fork, wiped her mouth and folded her napkin. She turned ever so slightly and looked him square in the eyes, her face devoid of all emotion. They sat quietly with him watching for the slightest flicker to betray the raging storm brewing inside. Forget Zoe. He was trying to pick a fight with _her_. Problem was, she could give as good as she got.

Propping her elbow on the table, she placed her chin on her hand and stated quietly, "_Stop_."

The crazy thing was that he watched her a beat longer then dropped his gaze and leaned back in his chair. Surrender.

"Cal?" Zoe looked between the two of them as though she could read from their practiced expressions what was going on. "Scotty was asking about a show at the 9:30 Club? Don't you know a guy that works there?"

Of course he did. Cal had a guy everywhere. If he weren't so ornery, he'd probably have a direct line to God.

"Yeah, he owes me too, I imagine I can getchya in," Cal replied, ignoring the palpable tension.

"I better head out, I need to be at the shelter in twenty minutes," Gillian stated quietly as she stood. Cal also tried to get up, but she pushed him back down as she passed behind his chair. "I can show myself out. It was a lovely meal, thank you for inviting all of us."

"It was a pleasure Gillian," said Zoe, her voice having lost the warmth it had earlier in the day. "Thanks for bringing the wine, it was delicious."

Gillian nodded and carried her plate and mug into the kitchen. Gathering her things, she ignored the sound of someone approaching.

"I uh…" it was Bobby. "I just wanted to say thanks. For… listening all those times, and for coming over today. The only reason I agreed was because Zoe said you were coming."

Gillian turned as she buttoned up her coat, stunned at his admission. He smelled faintly of bourbon and sadness, two things that went hand in hand. She reached out and gave Bobby's hand a squeeze, offering a commiserating smile. He surprised her by wrapping his arms around her shoulders, brief and brotherly. When he pulled away, he whispered his thanks again and returned to the dinning room.

Closing the door shut quietly, Gillian welcomed the sharp cold that greeted her, wishing it would freeze the emotions whirling inside.

.::.

_The boys had been gone almost fourteen weeks. Twice a week, Gillian got a call from Henri — only five minutes each time. Every week she tried to think of the wittiest, most exciting things imaginable to tell him, but they always paled in comparison to his stories. _

_He told of the unrest between the minority of the Tutsis, the scapegoats for political unrest, and the Hutus. He told of a little girl that lived in the technical school that housed nearly two thousand refuges; how she'd give him the brightest smile and hold her arms up in hopes for a ride on his shoulders. Henri once gave her a teddy bear that she never went anywhere without and always made him kiss it hello._

_It was early April and at a time when everything was going wrong, she received a phone call that made everything worse. _

"_Henri?" her voice sounded hollow. "Is everything okay? I saw the news report, about President Habyarimana's plane crash and the ten soldiers that were kidnapped."_

"_Gill —" Henri's voice cracked."It's Luc…"_

_She waited. Listened to him set down the receiver. Listened to his breathing, and with each passing second, the fear within her grew. Finally, he sucked in a breath and said what she already knew._

"_They were sent to search the site of the crash. Four died first. Slaughtered, actually. They were unarmed, Gill. No weapons. Then the Hutus rushed their position and destroyed them."_

_Gillian slid down the wall, hugging her knees to her chest. She remained on the phone for the remainder of his five minutes, neither one talking, just listening to the sound of his breathing._

_Just before his time was up, she made one last plea: "Don't do anything stupid down there, Henri. I want you back all in one piece."_

_She heard him sniff once and tried to ignore the way his voice broke as he replied, "As you wish, Miss Gillian."_

_That night, Gillian crawled in bed and lay awake until dawn, staring at a picture of her squished in a chair with Henri and Luc. When the sunlight filtered in and shone in her eyes, she was surprised to find her cheeks damp. Not even the start of a new day could make the pain fade or the tears dry._

_.::.::._

A/N: Hi. I'm working my tail off on this. I appreciate any feedback, constructive if possible. Thanks for reading. 2. ALSO. Everything except for Luc being one of the ten Belgians killed is based off fact and extensive research.


	12. Chapter 12

Title: The Lies We Tell (12/15)

Pairing: gen, possible C/G

Rating: K

Disclaimer: LtM not mine. Donnell is property of David E Kelley (DEK).

Summary: When Zoe brings a new case and a new partner to the Lightman Group, long-buried truths will be revealed as they work to defend an innocent man, while a side investigation could also place one partner in mortal peril.

A/N: No beta. This is a Gillian-centric chapter... FOR NUMEROUS reasons. Thank y'all for the delightful reviews last chapter. It helped me complete this ahead of schedule. That being said, it's a little rough. Please forgive.

.::.::.

_The Belgian peacekeepers returned from Rwanda two weeks later after the fated phone call. In the days and weeks that followed, it became apparent that all was not right with Henri. A little thing, here or there, that amounted to a great many things. The breaking point occurred six weeks after his arrival._

_Gillian was up late, working. Henri had been at the local pub most of the night and walked in at… two in the morning. She was curled up in her chair with a report, watching as Henri banged around in the kitchen, searching for something to eat. Instead he emerged with a tumbler and a half empty bottle of Bourbon — a backhanded gift to Henri from her father. It was his drink of choice and was quickly becoming Henri's._

_Plopping in the center of the couch, he filled the glass just shy of the brim then screwed on the cap. She frowned warily as he took a long gulp._

_"I see the way you look at me. With that… disdain. If I want a drink before bed, I'm going to have one, damnit."_

_She didn't say anything, just sat quietly. All they seemed to have lately were arguments peppered with conversation. For once, she wanted to let it go._

"_What's wrong Gill? Silent treatment tonight? Or just worried?" he slurred cruelly. _

_Gillian bit her lip, wishing for Henri, her Henri to come back. This man wasn't him and they both knew it. _

_Still, he kept poking: "Don't forget, anything you say can and will be used against you." It was low, to use that phrase. It would always draw a reaction from her._

_"It's not just a drink before bed," she returned. "You drink until you pass out. You stopped 'sleeping' a while ago."_

_"Keeping tabs on me, Gill? Do you know when I piss and blink too?"_

_"I know that you don't eat. That you're isolating yourself. That you've lost at least fifteen pounds. I know that you can never sit still, even now. Look at your leg."_

_It wavered back and forth rapidly. "I've always done that. And I eat fine. There's nothing wrong."_

_"Right," she stood, getting fed up. "Then what about the other night?"_

_His bloodshot eyes met hers as he hiccuped. "Drop it."_

_"You were sitting in the bathtub holding your combat knife and… look at your arms, Henri! Those are not FINE." There were several fine scratches running perpendicularly along his forearms. _

_He stood as well, face growing flushed with anger. "I said drop it!"_

_"No, Henri. You need help. You need to talk to someone."_

_"Talk to someone? About what? About how my best friend got chopped to pieces? About the two thousand defenseless men and women and children that we left behind to get murdered? Do you know that they took the bear I gave that little girl and strung it up from the school's flag poll? It was covered in her blood! How am I supposed to sleep when that is all I ever see!" _

_Gillian stood across from him, speechless. Shaking her head, she replied, "I… I had no idea."_

_He laughed low and bitter then downed the remains of his glass. Grabbing the bottle by the neck, he turned toward the kitchen._

_"Doesn't matter. What would you know about it anyway? You're no expert. All you do is sit behind a desk, crunching numbers and analyzing."_

_"What's that supposed to mean?"_

_"You claim you want to help people, but you hide behind your title and let other people do the real work. Face it, Gillian. You keep everyone at arms length because you're afraid! You'd rather spend your time with all the pretense and none of the reality."_

_"Henri —"_

_"You think you can fix me, Gillian?" Henri turned and shouted. "You think you can __help __me? I got news for you sweetheart. I don't need fixing." Gripping the bottle loosely, Henri turned from her and tossed it hard against the brick wall, shards of glass and alcohol flying everywhere._

_"What the hell is your problem?"_

_Henri grabbed his jacket from the counter and walked to the door. "You. You're my problem."_

_The door slammed shut behind him, leaving her alone in their apartment. The smell of bourbon permeated the air, the splintered glass shinning on the floor. She stood numbly for a few moments, staring at the door. On auto-pilot, she pulled her long hair into a loose ponytail then grabbed the dustpan from the kitchen._

_For a brief moment, she allowed herself to ponder if this is what her mother went through after her father returned from the Vietnam War. The similarities alone frightened a hard sense of reality in her. She cleaned up the mess, collected her reports, and crawled into bed._

_She stared at the ceiling until sunrise, formulating plans and considering possibilities — a favorite pastime of hers. When she rose and took a shower, she had a new resolve and a course of action._

.::.::.::.

It had been nearly a week and today was closing arguments. Both Gillian and Zoe listened to Bobby's the previous evening. Gillian concluded that he truly was a phenomenal orator.

The event itself held a lot of mixed feelings for Gillian. She'd met with Ivana once more on the Sunday after Thanksgiving and was mostly unproductive. Ever since, she'd been largely absent from the trial. Gillian tried not to worry, but like everything else surrounding this entire ordeal, her intuition told her that something was distinctly off.

Gillian was surprised to see Cal at the courthouse. He'd been busy lately, what with several new cases and trying to pretend that he hadn't been gambling. Who'd he think he was fooling? The darkened eyes, rumpled clothing reeking of cigarettes and alcohol, that off-centered grin indicating the success of his previous evening. She wasn't sure what led him to the tables time and again, but she certainly hoped he'd defeat that particular demon soon. There were only so many fires she could fight.

The courtroom wasn't very large and today seemed to be more than the usual crowd to watch the closing arguments. Having come directly from a meeting, Gillian took one of the few empty seats available. She was sitting behind two men, one a tall white-haired gentleman dressed in a dark grey pinstriped suit; the other was balding and wore a black suit. As Gillian removed her coat, she heard the white haired man mutter to the bald one: '_If this lawyer's as good as I hear, Le Fort's gonna walk. Take care of it.' _

It wasn't the words that gave her pause — it was who was speaking them. Frozen in her seat, Gillian felt the hair on her arms stand up on end. White Haired Man was the killer. _Of all the times not to sit next to Cal_, she cursed herself as the judge just called court into session.

Next best thing: she stared at Cal until he felt her gaze. Sure enough, a few minutes later he turned to look over his shoulder across the aisle to her position. With the most pointed expressions she could manage, she indicated White Haired Man to her partner. He nodded his understanding and turned around. Only then did Gillian's heart return to a normal rhythm.

.::.

It was late evening and Gillian was sitting alone in her kitchen. She'd spoken briefly with Cal at the courthouse. He said he'd figure out something and left abruptly. All Gillian had to do was wait for the verdict. She was growing tense with thoughts of the impending fiasco. She absently spun the wine around in her glass watching the plum liquid swirl about. The buzzing from her purse broke her reverie.

"Hey! So, what's the word? Is Le Fort a free man? All I'm waiting for is the lab to certify the new evidence and we'll be free to move ahead."

Gillian's eyebrows rose. "Are you highly caffeinated right now?"

"Perhaps. I just pulled a double and I'm trying to get everything ready to fax over to you later. It's imperative that once he's clear, you get a tail on him immediately."

"Even though we don't even have solid evidence that he's the one who committed those murders?"

"I may have an ace or two up my sleeve; have faith Miss Gillian. Just let me know once they reach a verdict. I'll need to put in a call to the Office of International Affairs."

"Will do." Gillian took a sip of her tea, waiting for him to continue. "Anything else?"

A long beat and an intake of air on his end.

"Truth or dare, Gill. Truth?." Her mind flashed back to the first evening they spent together, her dared her to collect all those phone numbers. It was a game they continued to play and she _ always _went for dare. Their last day together, he asked her the same, except she opted for truth.

"Why'd you give up?" His voice was doleful.

She sat in quizzical silence. "What?"

"Why'd you give up on us? Why'd you leave? You're one of the most loyal people I know. To a fault, even. I stopped wondering a while ago, but now, with all this, I figured it was worth a shot before we go another fifteen years without speaking."

"I won't stop talking to you." She suddenly lost her appetite and tossed her salad in the trash.

"C'mon, Gill. I swear I'll let it go. I just… can't believe you'd leave over one fight."

"_One fight_? We had several. It wasn't just that argument. My leaving was the culmination of several things: work was awful, all our friends were depressed because of Luc, and you had PTSD. The _fight_ was what pushed me over the edge."

"Nope. Cut the bullshit. Those were all external factors. I remember very clearly, you left because of _you_."

Gillian left her kitchen and started pacing around her darkened living room, willfully ignoring the tin housing scores of pictures on her coffee table. She'd dug it out of her closet, but had yet to look at them. Still too painful.

"Henri —" She rubbed her hand down her forehead, over her eyes and exhaled: "I was pregnant."

Silence. Crickets chirped around the world.

"What do you mean you _were_ pregnant?"

"Remember the week before you and Luc deployed? All the sex we had? I… missed a pill or something, I don't remember. Anyway, I got pregnant."

"What happened then?"

Gillian bit her lip. There was only one other person she'd ever told about this. Saying the words aloud were nearly as painful as remembering the event.

"I… had a miscarriage."

"…How… how far along were you?"

"Thirteen weeks and four days. I lost the baby the weekend before Luc was killed."

He set down his phone, the same way he used to do when he didn't want her to hear whatever was going on. He picked up the phone not long after.

"Were… were you okay? What happened?"

"That's not important. Just know that for a short time… we were going to be parents."

"Gill," he admonished. "What happened?"

She rolled her eyes at the stubborn darkness. "I got really bad cramps. Then I started bleeding… and I didn't stop."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean they admitted me to the hospital and I had surgery to remove... the baby. I hemorrhaged a lot of blood and they had to give me two transfusions. I'd been released the day before the plane crash. Right before…" _Luc was killed._

"I can't…. Why didn't you ever tell me?" The accusation in his voice was hard to miss.

Gillian let out a huff of disbelief. "It's not like you were in the right state of mind to receive that kind of information."

They sat in silence for a few moments until Gillian found it too unbearable.

"I never thought I could fix you," she whispered. "Two broken people can't fix each other." She swiped at a tear running down her cheek, trying to force aside the grief. "I have to go, Bobby's on the other line. I think the verdict is in."

"Gillian, you can't pretend like none of this ever happened."

"I'm not. I told you. That makes it real. I've got to go."

"Fine… I'll be here. If you need me."

Gillian willed herself calm, then switched lines.

"Hey, Bobby…"

.::.::.

Le Fort was a free man. Bobby Donnell won a case against all odds.

Gillian arrived to the office the following morning, steeling herself for the day. She hoped to meet with Cal as soon as possible. She had yet to hear from Henri, but that was something she didn't want to dwell upon at the moment.

Exiting the elevator, Gillian's heels clicked loudly in the corridor. She read a text regarding tickets to that night's basketball game. Finally, something other than a quiet meal in her empty home. It would be a much needed break from this mess. The sound of another pair of footsteps alerted her to the figure approaching from the opposite end of the hall. She tried to quell the sudden urge to turn away as they met in the middle.

"Ah, Gillian," said Le Fort. "It appears this is the end of our time together. I thank you for everything you have done to ensure my freedom."

Gillian gave a flicker of a smile. Even that was difficult. "It's my job, Monsieur Le Fort. What will you do now?"

His eyes narrowed incrementally, but his face was otherwise blank. Like always. "I'm uncertain. I have… some matters to take care of then only time will tell."

"Please, don't let me keep you," she replied as she stepped aside.

"Thank you again. And might I add, that coat looks fantastic on you." She ignored his gaze as it traveled her form. With that, he nodded and took his leave.

Gillian made a note to burn her coat.

She entered her office, grabbed the select files she would need and mentally prepared for battle. Cal would not only be angry with her for continuing to pursue the investigation, but he'd also take issue with whom she did it. Gillian squared her shoulders and walked in Cal's office. This wasn't going to be pretty.

"Where've you been?" Cal asked. "Me 'n Reynolds already talked to Le Fort, gave him a heads up. He refused protection."

"I passed him on his way out," Gillian replied, not hiding her chagrin at being excluded. "Hey, Ben. You look great."

"Thanks, Gillian." Reynolds smiled and walked over to give her a kiss on the cheek. "I feel great. I'll be off desk duty in a week."

Before Gillian could say anything further, in walked Torres and Loker. _Great_.

"I have everything ready for our dry-run, Foster," said Torres. "Bradford is coming by on Monday to see the final product."

Reynolds looked curious and Gillian smiled while shaking her head. "Is a side project that's getting launched in January," she offered before turning her attention to Torres. "Great. Any problems tagging the files?"

"No, everything went pretty smoothly. I just had a couple things to ask you about, but they can wait." By the way Torres said it, Gillian knew as well as everyone else, that she didn't want to share her particular queries with Cal still in the room.

"Loker? Did you need something?" Gillian asked, hoping to move them along.

"Just waiting on Lightman. He needs to sign some paperwork for my dissertation."

"You _do_ realize that he gives it all to me and _I_ fill it out, right?"

"Are you serious?" Loker frowned at Cal who remained seated, watching all the activity. Cal shrugged and stretched his arms, twining them behind his head.

"And what is it you're here for Foster? Might as well make this a group meeting if you're here for what I think you're here for." Cal was already primed for an argument.

Gillian sighed in exasperation while the others got comfortable on the couch. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Cal sat up in his chair, leveling her with a wary look. "Why not?"

"I'm not here to discuss his protection. I'm here to talk about the trafficking."

"I thought we decided he had nothing to do with that."

"No," Gillian frowned. "_You_ decided. I have evidence that supports my theory."

"If I may interrupt," said Reynolds as he walked to Gillian, taking her proffered file. "Trafficking? Are you talking about Le Fort? He checked out fine when I ran his background."

Gillian nodded, "Yes, but that's his American alias. In Belgium he's known as Martin Thomas."

"Woah, hold up," Loker said as he approached Reynolds, wanting to look at the file. "No one ever said anything about that guy not being who we thought he was."

"Oh Foster's known all along," said Cal flippantly. "She also thinks he's a sociopath."

"You what?" "Are you sure?" "Now hold on, just a second."

Gillian ignored the cries from the gallery and focused her attention on Cal. "So you think I'm wrong?"

"No, I didn't say that," Cal hedged. "I just don't think you're right."

There it was, that inherent doubt. She knew, deep down, that he believed himself to be the better scientist. He'd never outright stated it though.

"I can link him to several murders in Belgium, he has land south of here, and was in charge of an _unofficial_ shipment when his partner was murdered."

"I can't even read most of this information, it's all in French," interrupted Reynolds who was looking over the file with Loker. "Where'd you get this anyway?"

Gillian ignored Reynolds and watched Cal, the way he scrutinized her every feature, every wrinkle and flicker of emotion. With each passing second, she could see the tension in his jaw and shoulders grow.

"You promised me you'd quit." Cal rounded his desk, snatching a sheet off the top of the folder. "Doesn't matter though. All your evidence? Doesn't make him a sociopath and you know it."

"Because you've had so much experience diagnosing sociopaths?" Gillian didn't want to fight dirty, but she'd do what it took to get his attention.

"Got the last one didn't I?" _Touché._ Cal stood before her, eyes fixed on hers.

"Putting aside the possibility that he's a potential sociopath," Reynolds intervened quickly as he took a step forward, "we still need to corroborate all this information. How'd you get a hold of it?"

Gillian finally slid her gaze from Cal and replied, "an Inspector working in Belgium. Henri Toussaint. His number is attached to the post-it note on the front."

"Finally. A bloody name. So he's the one?" Cal smirked. It wasn't friendly. "Your _past_?"

"This is not the time or the place."

"It isn't? So you're saying that your history with that _Inspector_ has absolutely nothing to do with your interest in this case?" Waiting a beat, he continued, "That if you hadn't had someone else backing you, encouraging your suppositions, then we'd be writing off Le Fort and be none the wiser?"

"Why are you so eager to be rid of Le Fort without consequence? I have physical proof that he's a dangerous man, forget sociopath."

They watched each other, ignoring the others. He _knew_. He knew she wouldn't be able to let it go and had been sitting on that knowledge for weeks. Biding his time, he was a veritable volcano, waiting to explode.

"I don't want to do this because you're baiting me. That, and how can we trust this information?" Cal posited as he stepped closer. "How do we know Toussaint wasn't just trying to keep your interest by feeding you lies?"

She could take assaults on her character, but would not stand for any made against Henri. "I'd stake my entire career on our evidence. I trust him implicitly."

Judging by the tense silence and raised eyebrows, Gillian may have gone a bit too far. She _did_ say 'our evidence' and gave Henri the highest stamp of approval: Implicit Trust.

The flash of anger on Cal's face made it very clear that she was treading a thin line.

"Right. Just what I thought," Cal pushed past her and grabbed his coat hanging off the back of the couch. "If Le Fort is still alive on Monday, then we'll deal with… all this."

She wasn't sure if he was refusing to pursue because of Henri, or because he legitimately thought she was wrong and couldn't be bothered. Either way, it was unlike him to refuse an investigation of anything suspect, and this was the very definition. She was starting to believe that his jealousy was getting the better of him and fueling his denial.

"Cal, we're not done here."

He turned, working his jaw as his face flushed with anger. "Yes, _Foster_, we are," he yelled. "I told you not to pursue this and you disregarded me entirely and did it anyway." _With Toussaint, no less._

"It's awful, isn't it?" Gillian shot back. _Karma's a bitch_. Cal's eyes narrowed in fury before he turned around and left.

Gillian turned to find the others standing around awkwardly.

"Loker, I need you to set up the lab. I want you both to review the interviews that were held by the Belgian police."

"I thought we weren't doing anything until Monday."

"_Lightman_ isn't doing anything until Monday. _We_ are getting to work right now. Forget that the interviews are in French. I want you to categorize any expressions and unusual vocal patterns exhibited during the interviews. Then we'll compare them with what we've already got."

There was a moment of silence as the others contemplated what she just told them to do: move ahead without Cal's blessing. Loker looked at Torres then Reynolds who shrugged in response.

"Got it." Loker nodded and walked out.

"I'm going to get a warrant to pull the shipping logs and see if we can get a look at that warehouse. We're currently trying to track down the boss — that guy you identified from the courtroom."

"Thank you. Can you get a local unit to check out the property in central Virginia?" asked Gillian.

"I'll see what I can do."

Reynolds pulled out his phone and got started, walking out into the hall. Gillian turned to Torres who'd remained in her seat throughout, watching Gillian. For once, she didn't anything, but gave Gillian a long, measured look, then rose quietly and left.

As much as she'd have loved to follow up on that, she had about ten other things to do and was trying very hard not to get worked up over Cal's tantrum.

.::.

_Gillian sat in the passenger seat of the car, staring ahead at the departure terminal. A week after their argument, Gillian quit her job, packed her things, and booked a one-way ticket to Boston._

"_Here's your grandmother's ring," she slid it off her finger and held it out. Henri glanced at it then turned straight ahead._

"_No, I want you to hold on to it. You're the only person who should ever wear it and one day, I will put a matching ring on that finger."_

"_Henri —"_

"_Give me a year. Wait a year, that's all I ask. After that, find someone who'll make you happy."_

_Gillian swallowed hard. The thought of being happy at all was such a foreign concept. Becoming happy without him seemed impossible. _

"_Will you call?" asked Henri._

"_Only if you decide to get help. You have to want it for you. Not because I'm forcing you."_

"_Isn't that what you're doing? Forcing my hand by leaving?"_

"_No," Gillian replied sadly. "I'm leaving because… because so much has happened and I feel stuck here. You were right."_

"_I was drunk."_

"_You were still right. There's more that I should be doing, more than sitting in a tall building staring at financial reports of countries that need aid."_

_He nodded, his gaze fixed straight ahead. "I love you."_

"_I know."_

"_Don't ever forget it."_

_They climbed out of the car and pulled her bags out of the trunk. Her entire life, condensed to one large suitcase and a backpack. She turned to him, the darkness under his eyes, his unshaven face, his overwhelming despair. She was leaving him when he needed her most and she couldn't find it within herself to care. She didn't care much about anything anymore._

"_Truth or dare?"_

"_Truth." It was the first time she'd ever chosen the option and surprised them both._

"_Why are you really leaving?"_

"_Because…" _

_Because it takes all my energy to get out of bed, because I love you so much and I can't help you stop hurting, because I can't even look at you without wanting to cry. Because I was going to be a mother and a wife and now I will be neither._

"_Because I don't love you enough to stay."_

_She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him hard, then grabbed her suitcase. She entered the airport without looking back.__ She didn't fail to notice that he never asked her to stay._

_Never before had she ever told a lie so hurtful or so grievous. It was then that she resolved to never do it again. Not lie well, at least._

_.::._

Gillian stormed out of the lab, where she'd just left Cal. He'd returned, ready for round two and held no punches. She was beginning to think that this rift had been a long time coming, but now wondered at being able to repair the damage.

"Alright, it's past five. Let's call it a day. None of you care enough to be here anyway," Gillian said as she returned to the conference room. She was frustrated by the lack of support shown by her co-workers. Cal had more sway over them than she imagined.

"Take some files home over the weekend, in case you both happen to be _free_. Just be safe. We're supposed to get a couple inches of snow tonight."

Both Loker and Torres had the sense to not look at each other. "And if we come up with something?" asked Loker as he pulled on his coat.

"You know my number."

Torres remained after Loker left the room. "What are you going to do?"

"Right now? Go watch the Hoyas demolish Utah State. Then I'm going to figure out how to catch Martin Thomas in the act." Gillian felt the younger woman's pensive gaze. "What? Don't believe me?"

Torres grinned, "No. I do. That's the problem."

Gillian gathered her notes and headed to her office, waving goodbye to Torres. Glancing at the clock, she realized she'd be late for the start of the game. It didn't matter. As long as she had an hour and a half to numb her mind, then all was well.

Calling her friends to let them know she was on her way, she parked at the nearest metro and headed to Georgetown.

.::.

Gillian smiled at Larry and Susan as they sat in the seat across from her. Larry was affiliated with the Hoyas athletic department and Susan was an editor at the Washington Post. The three of them could talk basketball for hours and still not tire of it. Even better, they could talk of non-basketball related things and continue to have a good time.

Despite having such a good evening with her friends, she still felt that sensation deep down, that guilty gut-twisting feeling that she hated so much. It was the primary reason she hated lying, but it was even worse because there were so many people angry with her over so many different things. She knew it'd blow over eventually, but she wasn't sure if her relationship with Cal would ever be the same.

Then again, he'd lied to her so many times and she'd taken him back. But life wasn't always a two-way street. There was nothing that said Cal Lightman had to be anywhere near as forgiving as she. Gillian figured she'd find out how true a friend he was after all this.

"Gillian, I hope you've been to the grocery store and stocked up on food. The weather is supposed to be atrocious this weekend."

"I sure did. If this winter is anything like the last, then we're in for a lot of snow."

"No kidding," Susan replied. Susan and Larry's stop arrived, just two ahead of Gillian. She smiled as Susan leaned over and gave her a quick hug while Larry patted her on the shoulder the way he always did. Just before they got off, Larry turned and said, "Make sure you text me when you get home, you know how nervous I get."

Smiling, Gillian replied, "Always do. Don't worry."

The doors opened and Larry and Susan stepped off, giving Gillian one last wave. Gillian settled into her seat while passengers boarded. As the metro resumed its journey, Gillian's gaze fell on the reflection of the person sitting behind her. Her heart skid to a shuddering halt.

Staring directly at her with his cold, dead grey eyes and a fiendish grin was none other than Jean Le Fort.

.::.::.

A/N: 1. I'd love to take credit for the dissolution of Henri and Gill's relationship. However it is loosely based on a patient I once had, but instead of sitting in a bathtub with a combat knife, he was alone in the woods, staring down the barrel of his shotgun. I'm happy to say that he is with his wife and two kids, doing much better. 2. If any of you were ever curious as to where the SUSPENSE part was going to come in to play, THIS would be it. 3. Cal's behavior will be elaborated upon next chap. Until then, thanks for reading and leaving your lovely comments, I do enjoy them.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: NOTE THAT CAL AND GILLIAN'S POV'S ARE NOT IN SYNC, OR IN REAL TIME WITH THE OTHER.

**DISCLAIMER: DARK THEMATIC ELEMENTS. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.**

* * *

Chapter 13

* * *

Poke.

Poke-poke.

"Oi! What're you doin'?"

"Dad. It's past noon. Are you getting up or not?"

Cal sighed loudly and turned over in bed, pushing away the covers. Scrubbing his face with his palms, he sat up. "What _are _you wearing?"

"Snow pants. We're building a snow fort."

"How _old_ are you?"

"Old enough to know the physics required to accomplish such a feat."

"Ugh." Cal flopped back in bed. His head was pounding and his tongue felt like he'd licked a salty floorboard. "When'd you get here?"

"Last night. I fell asleep waiting for you to get home… Which you didn't do until _three_ in the morning." She took a step closer and sniffed. "Dad? You smell... Bad."

"Em. Love. Can you get me some water? And the entire bottle of motrin?"

"Yeah, sure."

Blessed silence. Cal could hardly see straight. Thinking was out of the question. Nodding off, he woke to find the pills and water sitting beside him. Lovely girl, that Emily. Swallow. Chug. Sleep.

Cal awoke an hour and a half later. Stretching, he exhaled and sat up, suddenly ravenous. To the kitchen. He set the pot to boil for tea and toasted some bread. It wasn't until he was well into his second bite that he looked outside.

Bloody hell.

There must've been at least a foot, maybe more. No wonder Em was making a snow fort. He thought they were only supposed to get a dusting. Damn meteorologist. Idiots, the lot of 'em. Draining his cup, he rinsed his plate then headed upstairs to take a shower. He wanted to see how far this snow fort had progressed.

.::.::.

Cold. It was very cold.

Gillian awoke to find that everything ached, even her hair. A wave of nausea hit and without warning, she vomited. She must've done that several times already, as she was lying in a pile of sick.

Once the world stopped spinning, Gillian tried to orient herself. She was in complete darkness, not a trace of light. She was on cold, concrete floor. Her hands were tied to what felt like a wooden post.

Taking a deep breath, Gillian tried to quash the fear that was begging to escape. She needed to remain calm.

Rolling to her back, she found that she was naked. Not only that, but she seemed to have lost sensation from the waist down._ Great. _ That was just… she swallowed hard. She would not panic. She would not freak out.

There was a wealth odors permeating the space. Feces, urine, iron, mildew, unshowered bodies. She began dry heaving, but her stomach had nothing left to offer. With the last heave of fetid breath, her meager energy escaped her.

And just like that, all was black once again.

.::..::.

"Fort's not too shabby, Em." It even had a slide, which he enjoyed immensely. Nothing like resorting to youthful antics to forget adulthood woes.

Emily smiled then peaked over the edge and slid back down, finger to her lips. Capture the flag was serious business. A noise to Cal's left brought his attention. Armed to the teeth, Cal shot upward and started pelting the little maggot. A girlish squeal erupted then a red-jacketed blob retreated to safety.

"Strong work," Emily whispered. "He got way too close that time."

"That was a boy? Oh…"

"Dad…" They resumed their positions and held their ground, whispering back and forth. She had yet to bring up his late return. He had yet to ask why she spent the night at his house when it wasn't his weekend with her. No matter.

"Cal?" It was Zoe. "CAL? EMILY?"

"You _did_ tell your mum that you were staying over. Right?" Cal glanced over his shoulder to where Zoe stood on his front porch, squinting out over the expanse of gleaming snow.

"Of course. I'm not uncommunicative like you." They retreated to the porch and a very displeased Zoe. Or furious. Or nervous. He couldn't tell — she kept waffling back and forth. Her gaze moved past him to another figure. He turned and saw Donnell coming up the walk. Blast.

"Why the hell won't you answer your phone? ANY of them?"

"Good afternoon to you too." Cal unzipped his coat and let them inside. Well, he closed the door on Donnell. That man had weaseled his way into the good graces of the three most important women in Cal's life and for that he must pay. Petty acts of vengeance weren't out of the question.

"What crawled up your arse?"

"Where's your cell? I tried calling you five times. BOTH of you," Zoe said as she unbuttoned her coat and placed her hand on her hips. "Why didn't you answer?"

"Did you miss the giant fort, Mom? It's kind of hard to miss. Dad was helping secure our stronghold," said Emily.

"Whatever." Zoe glanced at Donnell, who was behind Cal and had yet to speak. Something was going on. Something beyond garden-variety anger. "Can you just… find your phone?"

"Not 'til you tell me what's goin' on."

Zoe looked away and swallowed hard. "Have you spoken with GIllian today?"

"Nah," Cal relied sorely. "She's not my keeper, you know."

She arched her eyebrows at his reply and looked to Donnell again. This time he spoke. "Lightman, we need to know if she called you."

"Why?" Cal was moving from irritated to worried. "What happened?"

A long tortuous moment passed in which the doubt and fear and anxiety overwhelmed their features.

"Gillian's missing."

.::.::.

Damn. Her head. She had no idea what Le Fort injected her with, but it was… unpleasant.

It was still absolute blackness. She couldn't hear anything. She had no idea if she was in a cellar, in a warehouse, or left for dead somewhere. Nothing. It was the not knowing that was starting to wear on her.

Good news was that she had regained sensation below her waist. She figured he'd used some type of paralytic. Not like she could go anywhere, her legs were also restrained at the ankle.

Outrageously bright floodlights flashed on, blinding her momentarily. Footsteps. Boots on wooden stairs; creaking all the way down. He took his time, enjoying the fear that must accumulate with every step. Reaching the bottom, he walked in a wide sweeping circle, slowly closing in as he surveyed her.

"Bienvenue Gillian."

.::.

Everyone had their macbooks set up around Cal's kitchen table. He'd called Torres and Loker and told them to get to his house, to _walk if they had to_.

"Run me through this one more time, Donnell. Don't skip a step."

Bobby gave Cal a disparaging look and took a seat on one of the stools.

"I got a call around noon from Linds. She said that Henri Toussaint was sitting in her living room, saying that Gillian was in danger."

"How does she know Toussaint?"

"No idea. Anyway, he told her everything that was going on. She called me. I called you, you didn't pick up, I called Zoe. I picked her up and we went to Gillian's. Her car wasn't there and none of her lights were on."

"I need to get over there."

"Cal. The roads —" Zoe started. She hated driving in the snow.

"Just because some bloke says she's in danger doesn't mean it's true. Until I have proof to the contrary, I'm going to believe that Foster is just fine." He _had_ to. "Now. You comin' or not?"

"I am," Emily replied stubbornly.

"Not you."

Emily pulled on her coat and opened the door. "I'll meet you in the car."

.::.::.

Le Fort held up a large combat knife. Gillian frowned as she squinted through the blinding light.

"Here's how this works. You talk, I cut out your tongue. You try to run, I cut off your feet. You untie yourself, I cut off your hands. If you doubt me, just look at Ivana." Gillian's eyes widened as he walked over to the other side of the room where Ivana was shackled to the wall. He yanked up her head by her hair and forced open her bloodied mouth.

"I don't cut out tongues often, it's far too messy and blood," he motioned to her front where dried blood had coagulated to her chest and neck, "gets everywhere."

Gillian looked away. She did that. It was her fault Ivana was chained to that wall. She shut her eyes tight and ignored his words as he continued.

"Hey," Le Fort stood over her, foot on either side of her. He grabbed her jaw and squeezed tight, pointing the tip of the knife into her nose. "You're going to want to pay attention to this."

.::.::.

"Gillian has a lot of locks." No signs of forced entry. Good.

"No kiddin'." Cal would have to replace the panes of glass from her front door. Emily walked into the living room and took a seat on the couch. She poked around on the coffee table, popping open a tin. Cal kept moving, calling: "Foster?" The silence in her house was the type that only empty rooms could create.

No signs of a struggle in the kitchen. Not like last time. He stopped just outside her bedroom. He'd never been in there and was terrified at what he might find. He crept to the doorway and peaked around it quickly. Her bed was made neatly. No signs of a struggle, anywhere. No missing clothing. Bathroom was spotless.

"Dad, you should take a look at this."

Cal followed his daughter's voice into Gillian's study. It was packed with books upon books. He shouldn't have been surprised, but the sheer volume caught him off guard. Emily was staring at the longest wall and could see where her alarm came from.

The pictures of over twenty women were posted — their last known whereabouts, their hometowns, their common identifiers. All unsolved cases. Some were American; others were Belgian, Dutch, French, or German. Post-its galore. At the bottom of the wall were images of their mutilated bodies. Cal quickly dropped to the ground and started pulling the pictures off the wall.

"I already saw them," she sounded distraught. "How… how did… How did you not know about any of this?"

"I knew... sort of," he had no idea it had gotten this far. Foster was meticulous by nature, but this was borderline excessive. All those times he'd watched her, looking for cracks that weren't there. He wasn't sure if she was just that good or if he was too preoccupied. Probably both. Regardless, he was alarmed.

His phone started buzzing. There was news.

.::.::.

Le Fort moved to her side and squatted beside her. He traced the plane of her abdomen with the tip of his knife.

"There is more than a foot of snow outside. The roads are blocked. No one is going to find you."

She exhaled slowly. So this was what it was like. She had been captured and now he was playing with his prey. He slid the knife up to between her breasts as though deciding which one he wanted to lop off first. She watched his eyes the whole time, the way they dilated, the way he scrutinized her with such clinical efficiency.

This wasn't a game to him. This was art. This was science. This was curiosity. She was flesh encapsulating muscles and bones and organs. When he looked at her, he didn'tt see a person. He did not recognize the presence of _something more_.

"See, Gillian," the blade moved up her arm and stopped at her wrist. "I have a thing for hands. Especially your hands."

.::.::.

When he arrived an hour later, Em retreated upstairs with the tin she'd collected at Gillian's. Cal entered the kitchen with some of Foster's things as well as several files and her laptop.

Loker was talking to someone on his computer. Cal moved past Zoe and nudged Loker out of the way.

Before him sat Lindsay Dole. She wore a faded Harvard sweatshirt. Her hair was long and layered, no make-up. Beautiful. Tired, but beautiful. He ignored the twinge in his chest as she gave Cal an impatient look, frowning. It was the same as Foster's impatient look. Fantastic.

"I guess I'll talk to you later… Eli," she stated. "You must be Cal." She said it in the same manner one refers to a piece of unfavorable luggage.

"Guilty. So," Cal clapped his hands together and rubbed. "Where's Toussaint? I have questions."

"He's on the phone talking to… Agent Reynolds, I think? They're trying to get a local unit to check out Le Fort's property."

"I thought that happened yesterday," Torres interjected.

"A great many things were supposed to happen yesterday that didn't," Lindsay replied sharply. "According to Agent Reynolds, this is where everything stands: Le Fort booked a flight out of Dulles for this upcoming Tuesday; he's withdrawn all funds from his bank account and canceled all credit cards."

"Right. Hold that thought." Cal turned to Zoe and Donnell, both leaning against the counter. "Where are the rest of the discs? The ones you refused to hand over?"

Zoe glanced at Donnell, nervous. "We gave Gillian all the discs."

Cal stared at Donnell, watching as he worked his jaw. He pushed off from the table and stood in front of him, leveling him with unmitigated intensity. "I don't give a shite about attorney-client privilege. Where are they?"

The quickest flicker, but Cal knew where they were. He yanked the keys out of Donnell's jacket and retrieved them from his Land Rover. Rushing inside, Cal brushed past Zoe and Donnell and slid the first disc into his computer.

It wasn't until he was a minute in that he realized they had company. Sitting beside Lindsay was Henri Toussaint. He was leaning forward with his hand propped on his chin, listening intently over the feed. He must've been Foster's age, with light brown hair, tired dark brown eyes and one of those stupid jaws that was all chiseled. Cal imagined some women would find him attractive enough. Whatever.

Cal paused the disc. "What made you come over here?"

Henri's brow pinched as he pulled back. "Excuse me?" He had a British accent to his English, instead of American. Not completely unheard of, but amusing nonetheless.

"You showed up on Lindsay's doorstep this morning. Why?"

"Boston is the only place my plane would land. Mylab gave me the evidence I needed to lock the bastard away and the last time Gill and I spoke, she said the verdict came in. I told her to get a tail on him since he was a flight risk, but apparently she lacked the _support_ to accomplish that."

Cal ignored the dig and continued. "Why didn't you just call?"

"I did." Impatience. Anger. "Last night. She never answered which is unlike her."

"And you assumed the worst?"

"Yes. She and I have linked him to the disappearance of over twenty women. By participating in human trafficking, he's been able to pick whomever he wants without consequence. Considering the length of time this has been going on, we estimated around fifty victims. What surprises me is that no one seems to have done much yesterday."

Cal saw Torres stiffen out of the corner of his eye. His gaze flicked back to Toussaint who was giving him a look that made it clear that he held Cal responsible for what happened. _Get in line._

"Can you push play, please?" Toussaint requested. "I'd like to ensure her safety as quickly as possible."

Cal frowned. Toussaint had the nerve to be logical when all this was going on. He pushed play and they sat back and listened. Cal got a headache from listening to the French, while Henri just motioned for the next disc.

It wasn't until five minutes into the third that he perked up. He jotted something down and glanced up at the screen, mild relief evident. "How far is Appomattox?I think he's located twenty miles west of there. Not his original address. Can we get some officers in the area to check it out?"

"Worth a shot," Cal replied. He rang Reynolds who replied with some devastating news.

"What do you mean we can't do anything?"

.::.::.

Waiting. That was the definition of torture. Le Fort had expressed what he wanted. To begin the festivities, he found a manacle with sharp points lining it and fastened it around her neck. Forget talking, she'd have difficulty breathing. The barbs pierced her skin and warm blood oozed out. He swiped his finger through it and licked, then rose, turned off the lights and retreated upstairs.

Ivana moaned. At this point, Gillian wasn't even sure the young woman was conscious. "Ivana?" Even whispering was out of the question.

Nothing.

All Gillian could do was lie in dreadful silence and try to think about anything _but_ what she was about to go through.

It didn't work.

.::.::.

"A white out?"

"It's when snow conditions are so bad that roads are too hazardous to drive on," Lindsay offered to Henri. "The Governor declared a state of emergency because the snow has gotten so severe. The two main routes to get to Gill's area have been closed."

Cal watched Henri closely. He seemed to be working very hard to keep his cool. "So, we can't do… _anything_ until this state of emergency is lifted?"

Lindsay, her voice soft: "Yes."

Henri bit his lip and nodded, overwhelmed with helplessness and anger. He stood abruptly and left the frame. Lindsay's eyes traced his movements through her home. Cal saw the guilt on her features, the sorrow. There was something there, between them.

Before Cal could pester, his cell rang again. "Reynolds, tell me you have good news."

"Yes and no. Larry MacKenzie placed a call around one thirty in the morning to Alexandria PD. He reported that Gillian hadn't returned home last night after attending a Georgetown basketball game. He and his wife last saw Gillian on the metro. I got the tapes pulled and have a team reviewing them as we speak."

"Good. Were you able to get a local unit out?"

"Trying. It's difficult because they don't have the necessary equipment to get out there."

Frowning, Cal ended the call.

.::..::.

Ivana kept moaning. After a few hours, it began to wear Gillian down. She didn't think much about anyone or about escaping or what ifs or could-have-beens. Those were for people who had hope and she knew that was useless. No one had ever escaped Jean Le Fort. Ever.

She thought about breathing. About the excruciating barbs pricking her neck with every inhalation. About the way her leg wouldn't stop itching.

Suddenly the lights flashed on again, but he didn't return. Instead, it allowed her a chance to survey her surroundings without Le Fort as a distraction.

Glancing around, she wished he'd kept the lights off.

.::.::.

It was an endless litany running through his mind. It made it hard to focus on what the others were saying. Made it hard to think. Hard to breathe.

Cal stepped inside the loo and shut the door. Bracing his hands on the sink, he leaned over and stared at the white porcelain.

It had been hours since Reynolds said they had a positive I.D. on Le Fort with Foster. They reasoned he'd used a gun to get her out of the metro. Now there was no doubt that she was in danger; that she hadn't just taken a ride somewhere.

They had Toussaint to thank for the brief history of Le Fort. Foster believed that he was obsessive compulsive, which added to his ability to keep his crime scenes absolutely spotless and near impossible to trace. It wasn't until early that week that Toussaint actually had any concrete evidence against Le Fort. Before, he'd always just been a possibility.

All they could do was study all the information Foster had gathered and ignore their consciences at the overwhelming evidence in her favor.

Cal tried to assuage his guilt so he could focus on the matter at hand. Nothing worked. They were grasping at straws and spinning their wheels at the same time. Hopeless. Everything about her filled his mind. Her scent, her one-sided grin when she was up to something, the way she ate her bread rolls. It was driving him insane.

Cal pulled open the door and headed upstairs. Emily's door was cracked a bit and he took a moment to stick his head inside.

"What's all this?" he motioned to the many pictures positioned around Emily sitting

on her bedroom floor.

She glanced at him, frowning. She didn't want him around either. No one did. "Pictures I got from Gillian's. How's everything coming downstairs?"

"Donnell is trying to play a card game with his son over the computer, your mum is glued to the news and Loker and Torres are working with Reynolds."

"How?"

Cal paused. "They're calling local hospitals."

"And you? What are you doing?"

Cal crossed his arms and straightened. "I'm reviewing the interviews…I… I'm finally listening to Gillian."

A flicker of approval. "About time."

.::..::.

Blood. It was all over the walls. New blood, old blood. There were various contraptions assuredly used for torture: whips, chains, hooks, a rudimentary iron maiden, something that looked like it could crush a jaw, even a home-made guillotine.

Not to mention the emaciated body dangling from the ceiling in the corner of the cellar. Hooks skewered into her back and legs kept her suspended in air like a ghastly angel. She looked long dead and forgotten.

And then there was Ivana. There were deep scratches along her arms and legs. Aside from the blood down her front, she looked relatively unharmed. Knowing that Le Fort liked to keep his victims for a while to make them weak and crazed with fear didn't help Gillian's mounting anxiety.

.::.::.

Cal retreated to his computer and pushed play. Soon Loker and Torres joined him. "Focus only on the camera that was on Foster," Cal said. "I spent all this time lookin' at the wrong person."

"What do you mean?" asked Torres.

"Foster's the one to watch. She already saw him for what he was. Everything she's doing here, it's to match up with something in her head. See that — her hands? He's just looked at them and it was what she wanted."

"Why?"

"Their hands," Cal picked up a stack of photos and waved them about. "He likes to cut off their hands."

.::.::.

Gillian turned her head into her arm and shut her eyes. She tried to calm herself but it wasn't working. Hyperventilating. She was breathing too much too fast.

She tried to think about what she'd say to Cal, to Emily, Loker… Torres. Lindsay. What she would say to Henri.

Then she heard footsteps overhead. Screw everyone else. They weren't about to get chopped into tiny pieces by a legitimate sociopath. She was certain of the last part. Most definitely.

.::.::.

"There. She leans in and he looks at her cleavage? He looks but doesn't linger. His pupils don't dilate. The victims were never sexually assaulted… only mutilated."

"What about after you left the cube. Everything seemed to change. He got a lot more personal."

"He was sizing her up and she gave him everything he wanted."

"Why?"

"To be his next victim."

"And she knew this?"

Cal sighed. He shook his head at the woman on the screen. "Of course she did. She was luring him out, reflecting his desires back on himself. Whatever it took to get the job done."

"That's insane."

Cal leaned in to the screen and examined his partner in awe. "That's brilliant… and I missed it."

.::.::.

Gillian awoke to a swift kick in the ribs. She cried out sharply, stopping quickly after feeling the sharp stabbing sensation around her neck.

"What'll it be Gillian? The Spanish horse? What about the rack? Haven't used that in ages." Le Fort walked to the woman hanging from the ceiling and cut her skin away from the hooks, letting her drop to the ground. The lifeless body screamed in agony as Gillian gasped in surprise. So much for quick and painless. He'd probably leave her to rot.

Stepping around the lump of skin-covered bones, he walked over to Gillian and took a seat on the floor. "I like to watch as their last breath leaves them. The way their eyes dull when they realize that death is the only freedom they will ever have from this nightmare. Then they welcome it."

Le Fort leaned over and looked in Gillian's eyes. "And so will you."

.::.::.

It was three a.m. and the snow had finally stopped. Unfortunately, there was another wave heading up their way. All was quiet in his house. Donnell was on the couch. Loker was in the chair. Zoe was sleeping with Emily. Torres was bundled up tight, sitting outside.

Cal paced back and forth, trying not to think about what may or may not be happening to Foster. He had plenty of images to give him examples of what the possibilities were. Burnt flesh. Knee splitting. Degloving. Crushed jaws. Evisceration. The list went on.

The man must've sat around, dreaming up ways to torture women. He viewed it as an art and the female body was simply his canvas.

.::.::.

Gillian was alone again, shivering from the cold. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

Angry. She was fuming mad. Why was it that when Cal got himself mixed up in some sort of trouble, he always got out with a punch in the gut and an even bigger ego? What if she'd spent more time convincing Cal and less time chatting with Henri? She knew Cal thought Le Fort to be dangerous and that Cal wanted him away from the woman in his life. Reasonable, yes. Conscionable, no.

No matter the danger, this man deserved to be caught. Someday. Still, she was going to die. Painfully. Slowly.

And it pissed her off.

.::.::.

Cal sat on his front porch as the sun rose, brooding. The door opened and out walked Torres, looking equally exhausted and holding two cups of coffee. He took the proffered mug and drank, ignoring the burn.

"I know you came back Friday, that you spoke to Foster in the lab. She only gets that pinch between her eyebrows after she's had an argument with you. What'd you say to her?"

"None of your business."

"Still angry about it? You regret whatever you said, just a little. What'd you do?"

"Torres —"

Torres shook her head, not having any of it. "What did you say to her?"

.::.

_"Why him? Why now?" Cal stood at the entrance of the lab. Gillian sat before the computers, watching her first interview with Le Fort._

_"What?"_

_"Out of no where, you contact this guy. I want to know why."_

_"Because the suspect is Belgian, and Henri is a Belgian officer."_

_"Not good enough." Cal shook his head and frowned. "You did it because you're lonely."_

_"Cal —"_

_"You eat alone. You go home to an empty house. You don't date anymore because you're horrible at it. You went to a damn shelter on Thanksgiving to 'help out.' The only people that do that are left-wing bleedin' hearts and single women with no family."_

_He stopped when she flinched, almost regretted it._

_She cleared her throat and looked down. "That isn't relevant. Why can't you just help me?"_

_"He IS relevant and this has been bothering me for years. Why him?"_

_She clenched her jaw, fighting hard not to speak. _

_"Why'd you become a psychologist? Why specialize in post traumatic stress?"_

_She looked up, lips pursed. "You know why I became a psychologist."_

_"I know what you tell everyone else. I want to hear it from you."_

_Gillian sat a moment too long and he grew inpatient. Cal walked to the nearest computer and pulled up the file for her PTSD project, scanned the demos until he had the one in question. Then he pressed play._

_"Kigali, Foster? Pretty sure that has nothing to do with Persian Gulf vets. Was he a Blue Helmet? Did he serve in the peacekeeping mission? Did he come back all messed up in the head?"_

_"Stop," her voice simmered with anger._

_"Did you try to fix him?" Cal took a couple steps closer, until he was right in her face. "Didn't work, did it?"_

_"You're going too far, Cal. Stop."_

_"You had to leave sometime though, had to… give up. Good to know your loyalty only extends so far —"_

_Gillian shot up, her hand twitching at her side. She was literally shaking from anger. Pushing past him roughly, she didn't spare him another glance._

_Cal was left with only the sounds of chaos behind him. He turned to see a bunch of Hutus watching as a truck was loaded with Belgian officers wearing blue berets. Then he watched in silent awe as the massacre began and a bloodied teddy bear was strung up a flagpole._

.::.

"Nothin' Torres. I didn't say a thing."

She saw the blatant lie in the ripple of emotion across his face. She let it slide. "Do you think she's still alive?"

"I think we have until Tuesday. Le Fort liked to draw out the torture as long as possible."

"So you'd rather imagine her alive, being tortured, than dead and pain-free?"

"I prefer reality and that's it."

"What about the reality that we all let her down?"

"She knew what she was getting into when she started all of this. It's not our fault that she went for it anyway."

Torres scoffed. "You think she deserved this?"

"I think she was out of her league."

"Right," Torres stood, shaking her head. "Maybe that's why she asked us for help. Asked _you_ for help. She knew her limitations, but at the time, she was banking on you backing her up. Stop ignoring the fact that you screwed up, Lightman."

Before he could reply, she walked back inside and shut the door. Cal sighed loudly. He'd enjoy his anger a little while longer.

A moment later the door opened and a frantic looking Torres held up his phone.

"It's Reynolds."

.::..::.

"Come on, scream. You know you want to." Gillian gritted her teeth out of sheer stubbornness. Her hands, still bound by rope behind her, were hooked on a chain. She dangled a half a foot off the ground.

"You know, I've had plenty like you. Quiet ones." He took a step closer and took a bite of his apple. An apple. He was eating a freaking apple as he decided what to do with her. He licked his index finger and ran a line down the center of her chest and abdomen, stopping at the apex of her legs.

"Still, they always scream. Always beg and plead —" There was movement up stairs. Creaking.

She contemplated calling out but his hand was still on a… sensitive spot and she didn't care to have him gut her right there. He tossed his apple in a corner and took the stairs two-by-two.

.::.::.

A dreadful looking Lindsay and Henri greeted them as Cal set the phone to speaker.

"A Jane Doe was brought to an E.D. in Richmond," said Reynolds. "I need any identifying features — birth marks, scars, broken bones, tattoos —"

"Foster? A tattoo?" said Cal.

"Actually, she has one," said Henri. "On her right hip. Two small stars." Cal's eyebrows shot upward. Always a surprise when it came to Foster.

"Huh. Anything else?"

"She has a birthmark on the bottom of her left foot and," Lindsay racked her brain. "She broke her right forearm when she was twelve. Back-handsprings will always be a bad idea."

"Good. That's great. Thanks." The line went dead. Cal crossed his arms and frowned at the two people looking back at him. Hopeful, yet cautious.

"You don't like me much, d'you?" Cal leaned forward on his elbows, waiting for Lindsay to respond. It was eye-opening, seeing her thoughts play across her face. This was what an _open_ Gillian could be like. Fascinating.

"No," she replied bluntly. "You're reckless and manipulative. You drag her into shitty situations over and over again and always expect her to clean up your mess. You take her for granted and treat her horribly. And no matter what I say, she stays with you out of some distorted sense of loyalty she's developed over the years."

Cal sat back, wagged his eyebrows and flashed a sad smile. "True. On all accounts." He ran a hand through his hair and dropped the act for a moment. "I imagine that's the same way she felt about how Donnell treated you a few years back. Bet she gave you advice and you took it, broke off your marriage. And now," Cal glanced at Donnell who was slowly rising from the chair. "Now she regrets it. Because she likes him. She thinks he's a good guy. She thinks that maybe, maybe she misjudged everything and wishes she could take it back."

Lindsay didn't believe a word he said. Her doubt brought on full-force sarcasm. "Right, I bet she told you that over afternoon tea and biscuits. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yeah I do, it's all over your face. You still love him." Lindsay turned away and looked up at her ceiling, biting her lip. Henri watched her warily.

"Perhaps you should hold your fire," Henri stated firmly. "Let us know when Reynolds returns with any news."

.::.::.

There was a scuffle up above. Gillian wondered if that lackey of the White Haired Man actually came through. How? What about the blizzard?

She felt hands on her back and yelped in surprise. It was Ivana, holding up a badly deformed wrist.

"You should go. Get out of here." Immense pain. Ivana shook her head and tried to lift Gillian off the hook. She was too weak. "Over there, he used that lever to hoist me up."

Ivana bit her lip, looking absolutely pitiful as she tugged with all her body weight to pull down the lever. "Get out while you can," Gillian pleaded through the throbbing in her throat. Ivana shook her head fiercely and kept tugging until it slowly started to budge. Gillian fell to the ground with a hard thud. Too weak and still bound, they struggled to free her legs.

A loud crash from above caused them to freeze. Footsteps on the stairs.

Le Fort was holding a syringe, looking feral. It was the first true emotion Gillian had seen out of him.

"What'd I tell you about trying to escape?"

.::.::.

"It wasn't her." Cal felt like he'd gotten punched in the gut. "She was thirty-four and had a scar from a c-section on her abdomen, no tattoos," Reynolds reported. "Sorry to get your hopes up. We're still working. Also, you might want to catch the news. An editor from the Washington Post took the kidnapping public."

Cal swiveled around as Torres turned on the T.V. he watched as the local news interviewed a woman at their station while they flashed images of Gillian on the screen. Cal turned around and glanced at the computer screen, finding Toussaint's eyes trained on him. It wasn't a friendly look.

.::.::.

Le Fort grabbed them by the hair and drug them up the stairs, the syringe clamped between his teeth. Ivana looked petrified of that syringe and it's contents. Le Fort shoved them to the ground in a room lit only by a kerosene lamp. The Bald Man appeared to be unconscious.

"Kneel," Le Fort gritted out. Gillian wasn't too keen on that idea. No matter, Le Fort kicked her in the knee, bellowing, "KNEEL BEFORE ME YOU BITCH."

He grabbed her arm roughly and pierced her flesh with the syringe. As he did so, the Bald Man, who was never really unconscious, rose and kicked Le Fort's feet out from under him. Le Fort smacked his head on an end table before slamming into the ground. The Bald Man searched around on the floor for his gun. Not finding it, he settled for kicking Le Fort again. The two men struggled, forgetting about Gillian and Ivana.

Ever resourceful, Ivana kicked over the kerosene lamp and quickly, the room was alight with flames. She spotted the gun, discarded under a sofa. Gillian frowned as her vision started to blur and weakness over took her. She picked up the gun, turned, fired, then collapsed.

Her body was paralyzed, yet again.

.::.::.

The phone rang and Cal jumped up to grab it.

"Reynolds? What is it? What's happened?"

.::.::.::.

A/N: I apologize. But I said mortal peril in the summary. I DO NOT PLAY. Thanks for reading.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: I apologize for the wait. I have a life, it is real, and it is tumultuous. Thanks go out to Pineapple, Kelsey, and A_J for overall awesomeness. This was poorly edited, I apologize. Thanks for reading.

* * *

The Lies We Tell (14/15)

* * *

Everything took too damn long. It took an hour just to get a positive ID on Foster. Then, after a great bit of arguing of who ought to go versus who _should_ go, Cal piled into the car with his daughter and left the others behind. The trip itself usually took two hours in good weather. Unfortunately the snow and car pile-ups along the highway made the journey almost eight hours.

And now Cal had to wait some more.

"What do you mean we can't see her!"

"We just got her up to the floor," said the unit clerk. "Her dressings are being changed."

"Dressings? Where? What?" Cal glanced at Emily, indicating that she needed to provide some distraction. He slid away as the unit clerk continued to talk, "yes, y'all should wait 'til the doctor gets out of surgery —"

Cal tuned her out as he flashed a smile to an exhausted nurse. She was carrying a pack of gauze to a room at the end of the hall and shut the door behind her. Frowning, he moseyed over to the window and peaked through the blinds inside the room.

All Cal could see was Gillian's torso and head. Those looked okay. Good. He quite enjoyed those parts of her body.

Gillian nodded at the nurse who laid the head of her bed flat. Then Gillian reached up with both her beautiful hands and hooked them through the grab bar above her head. She sucked in her bottom lip and stared at the ceiling. There were several fingertip-sized bruises dotting her arms. Brow furrowed, Cal watched the nurse work.

Carefully, the she unraveled Gillian's dressings to reveal a large angry blister on Gillian's right calf, nearly six inches long and full of fluid. The blister wrapped around her ankle and seemed to reach the bottom of her foot as well.

Cal straightened and pressed his forehead to the glass, rod-iron tense as Gillian shut her eyes tight against the pain, silent tears escaping slowly. At one point she opened her eyes, turned and looked directly at Cal. It nearly made him step backward.

There was nothing but pain. Excruciating pain.

She turned back and squeezed her eyes shut as the nurse finished dressing her burns, weaving the gauze between Gillian's toes and around her feet.

"Dad? Can we see her?" Emily tried to peak around him, but Cal stood in the way.

"Nah."

"What do you mean?"

Cal swung his arm around Emily's shoulder and turned towards the waiting room.

"She doesn't want to see anyone right now."

.::.

After sitting in the waiting room for several hours, a weary doctor came and sat with Cal and Emily.

"I'm Anne Stratton, Chief Trauma Resident," she shook their hands and dropped into the chair across from the pair. "I understand y'all have questions."

"Basically everything. No one's really told us much."

"Sorry about that. We generally raise high confidentiality around a patient who's suspected of any sexual or physical assault. Though Doctor Foster wasn't sexually assaulted, we didn't know that in the beginning."

"Fair enough. Out with it then; from the start."

Dr. Stratton's eyebrows shot upwards as she glanced at Emily, but Cal nodded. Shrugging, she took a long sip of her coffee and began. "I was paged around five thirty this morning: two women were brought in by a medevac chopper. There was a fire early this morning and a nearby farmer spotted the flames. He and his son rode their snowmobiles out to the property, found Doctor Foster and the Jane Doe, called nine-one-one and kept them warm. According to the flight nurse, the women were found bound and naked, and were quickly fading."

She paused for another sip and resumed. "I was there when Dr. Foster and our Jane Doe were brought in. At that point, they were unconscious but breathing. Both were hypothermic and severely dehydrated. The Jane Doe had her tongue cut out and a broken hand, but she'll be okay once we get her rehydrated and fed. Our biggest concern when Dr. Foster arrived was the manacle. We —"

"A what now?" Emily sputtered in disbelief.

"A manacle — a metal shackle. Whoever put it on, used a key to lock it around her neck. We needed to ensure an open airway because of all the smoke inhalation. Fortunately, we had a janitor get the damn thing off her. It had these tiny barbs on the inside that were actually piercing her neck, it was…," she paused and shook her head, "we got her to radiology, confirmed the fracture of several ribs and some bilateral shoulder damage. She also has a nasty laceration to the back of her head, which was stapled. Lastly, the burns..."

She stretched the stretch of someone standing in an O.R. for five hours. "If she weren't burned on the bottom of her feet and hadn't been kidnapped, she'd be able to go home today. Problem is, we have to worry about contractures of her feet, respiratory distress, psychological trauma, and the minor fact that she still won't speak."

"Not a word?" Cal felt Emily's hand tighten around his arm.

Inhale. Exhale. Sip. Dr. Stratton looked to the side and back at him, her ambivalence overwhelming.

"None."

.::.

Evening well under way, Cal tortured the staff enough that they let him have a few minutes with Foster. Standing at the entrance to her room, he stared at the heart monitor in the dim lighting, mesmerized by her beating heart. Judging by the tension in her upper body, she wasn't asleep — just resting.

He doubted she'd actually _sleep_ for a while.

Scanning her body, he feared she'd be in quite a bit of pain for the next few days. She was pale, unwashed, and bundled up with several blankets. Outside of her burn wounds, her neck looked downright awful. Small puncture wounds and scratches marred the smooth, freckled skin. Only one arm peaked out, the ligature marks encircling her wrist were raw and chafed.

He slouched in the chair beside her bed, watching her breathe for nearly fifteen minutes. Though he could've done so all night, he had things that needed to be said. Leaning forward, he rubbed his index finger along her forearm.

She didn't open her eyes, didn't smile, didn't do much more than lift her eyebrows.

"When you screw up, you sure go all the way," Cal said lowly. She pursed her lips. Unapologetic. "That was a big risk you took… huge."

Eyebrows quirked, she squinted at him through one eye, slight shrug.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Cal murmured. "It was worth it."

Brief smile in agreement.

"_Almost."_

She cracked her eyes again, struggled to take a deeper breath.

"Easy now," Cal scooted closer and slid his fingers around the unmarred portion of her wrist. "See, it was brought to my attention that…the only reason why I'm still alive, not locked up, all in one piece even, is because of you." She relaxed somewhat as he continued: "I know that… I know I let you down and that you nearly died as a result, Gillian. For that I will never forgive myself."

Her face tightened as she gripped the sheets, twisting them tightly. She sucked in a breath and bit her lip.

"Foster?"

No response, just the grimace of pain.

"Gill?" He pushed off the chair and leaned over her. Glancing at the monitor, her heart was beating far too rapidly.

"Damn, damn, damnity, damn," Cal sprinted out of the room and called for help.

The nurse, Laura, rushed inside. "Gillian, I know you don't want any morphine, but when the pain gets your heart rate up to 160, I'm going to have to step in."

"Foster? That true? Take the bloody medicine, Darlin'."

"Sir, I need you to step out for a bit —"

"Now just you wait a minute,"

"Sir, Please leave," she fixed him with a look that held no compromise. It was leave willingly or forcefully.

"Fine. Call me the second she's better." Cal grabbed his coat and left her room begrudgingly. He wouldn't have left at all if he knew that security wasn't already irritated with him. Passing the nurse's station he gave the resident a foul look then headed to the waiting room. He found a surprisingly comfortable couch and settled in.

.::.

Poke.

Poke-poke.

Cal faded into consciousness slowly. Suffering from déjà-vu, he was chagrinned to find not only his daughter, but Loker standing before him.

"Morrrrrning." Loker dropped in the chair opposite.

"Here, drink this." Cal jumped and turned to find Torres. She certainly made herself comfortable. He took her proffered cup of coffee and straightened in his seat.

"Nice of you to wake me." Cal scowled at them and downed half his cup in one go.

Torres shrugged, "figured you could use it."

Cal warned Torres with a look. "I told that nurse to get me when Foster was better."

"Better?" "What do you mean?" "Better how?"

"Oi! None of that. She just had a fit of pain last night. That's all."

"You Lightman?" asked a nurse assistant, a kid in his early twenties.

"Maybe."

"Whatever, man. Dr. Foster agreed to visitors. See if you can talk her into eatin' her breakfast."

Emily led the way into Foster's room, the four of them taking seats where available. Foster looked ten times better than last night. Her color had returned and she was actually sitting up. She offered them a feeble smile but little else. They all sat around quietly surveying her wounds as the tension mounted by the second. Breakfast was delivered, but it was all liquids on account Foster's throat.

"That looks awful. Is that," Cal grabbed her spoon and poked at the orange gelatinous substance, "Jello? They really give you Jello here? What else?"

Foster uncovered the large bowl, only to reveal chicken broth.

"No wonder you won't eat anything." Cal frowned. "I'll fix that. There's a coffee shop in this hospital. I'll get you somethin' good and unhealthy. Lots of sprinkles and whipped cream."

Just as he stood, he felt a tug at his sleeve. He turned to see Foster shaking her head, whispering hoarsely that she was 'fine'.

"But you're not fine."

She narrowed her eyes and sat back in her bed, rubbing her ribs. Good. He could still get her exasperated in less than two minutes. Everything would be back to normal in no time.

Before Cal could say anything further, his phone buzzed. He stepped out in the hall, took the call then returned.

"That was Reynolds. He's at Le Fort's. Or what's left of it, that is. He wants me to come out, take a look." Cal didn't really want to leave Foster's side, but he did want to see Le Fort's house of horrors.

"Can we come with you?" Torres blurted as Loker nodded, both unable to bear the awkwardness. Foster seemed to be absorbed by fixing her tea at the moment and waved them all off.

"Do as you like," said Cal. "Just keep your mouths shut. Emily, stay here."

Emily looked to Foster who smiled and nodded. "Sure. As long as it doesn't bother you."

Foster shook her head, shrugging. Cal watched Foster a beat longer then took his leave.

.::.

Gillian slept a lot. The drugs took away most her pain, but they also made her drowsy. It also made it hard for her to focus on anything worthwhile.

"Have you seen this movie?" Emily asked from Gillian's side. "To Kill a Mockingbird?"

"Been a while," Gillian rasped out and immediately regretted it. It wasn't that she couldn't talk or didn't want to; it was just incredibly painful. She had smoke inhalation damage on the inside, and the manacle damage on the outside. Besides, she doubted anyone would listen to her anyway.

"Do you want me to get some more tea? Your throat has to be killing you."

Gillian shook her head and shifted as much as she could with her limited ability to move. They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching Atticus talk to Scout. Gillian started dozing off when she felt Emily grab her hand. Gillian looked over to Emily, who slowly leaned her head down on the bed, facing Gillian. The poor girl looked exhausted and sad. She sniffed and let out a few tears.

"I don't think it's actually hit Dad yet… everything that happened," Emily whispered as she wiped away her tears. "Just… be patient with him, okay?"

Gillian's eyebrows pinched together. She used her other hand to run it over Emily's long hair. "What do you mean?"

Emily's hand tightened around Gillian's. "I don't want you to leave."

Even through the foggy haze of the pain medication, Emily's plea struck Gillian to her core. Despite her broken ribs, Gillian bent her head and kissed Emily on her temple. Gillian leaned back, biting down the pain.

"Sleep," Emily whispered. "I'll protect you."

Gillian believed her.

.::.

It was early afternoon before Cal returned with Torres and Loker. "Here, take this and get us some lunch. Go to that deli across the street."

Loker took the twenty. "What do you want?"

"Something big and unhealthy?" Torres muttered.

"Ten points for the girl in the leather coat. Now, out with ya," Cal pushed them out the automatic doors and walked to the elevator. He boarded behind a group of Attendings, apparently coming from a meeting.

"I can't believe this happened only forty miles away," said a tall African American doctor. "So far the F.B.I have found the remains of at least twenty-six women around Le Fort's property."

"No kidding," said a younger doctor, a woman. "Our house is out that way. And to think, he's been doing it for at least five years!"

"One of the news reports said he was questioned in a serial killer investigation in Belgium. Who the hell are we letting into our country?"

Another doctor, a surgeon based on the ever-present O.R. cap, "Who knows? All that matters is that someone figured it out and made sure he couldn't do it again."

"Do you think it was Doctor Foster?"

"It sure wasn't the mute girl. She's practically catatonic."

"I for one think it was Doctor Foster," said the tall African American. "I met her once at a conference. She's pretty brilliant. No doubt in my mind that she was on to him."

"Regardless, she's got a long road of rehab ahead of her," said the woman doctor. "You don't go through what she did without a little wear and tear."

The elevator dinged on his floor. Cal debated staying to eavesdrop, but he wanted to see Foster more. He entered the room to find both his daughter and Foster soundly asleep. He wanted to sit close to her, to hold her hand, to feel her pulse beneath his fingers. No. Not yet. Instead he watched over them, musing over the elevator conversation.

Torres and Loker came in carrying the food, causing Emily to stir. Cal glanced at Gillian. She too was awake, but was starting to look a little pale.

"You feel alright, Foster?"

Gillian scowled at him. Cal realized that perhaps eating in front of her wasn't the best idea. "Fine. How 'bout we take this show downstairs?"

Before anyone could respond, they were graced by a presence in the doorway. There stood doppleganger!Foster. She looked much more polished this time around, charcoal suit, make-up, hair pulled back in a clip.

"Hey you," Lindsay murmured, tears in her eyes.

"Hey Linds," Foster whispered with a soft smile.

"You look awful."

Foster rolled her eyes and shrugged. "All in a day's work."

Lindsay shook her head and peaked out into the hall then took a few more steps inside. "Sorry it took so long. I came as soon as I got out of court. Fortunately the warm front took care of the snow."

Cal spoke up, "You didn't miss much. Just a lot of drooling and snoring."

Foster smacked him on the arm as Lindsay fixed him with a lethal glare. No, Foster didn't have that expression in her arsenal. Lindsay took a few more steps inside, tugging her purse a little closer in discomfort.

Loker stood and held out his hand. "Nice to finally meet you face-to-face. I find you much more intimidating in person."

Gillian rolled her eyes while Lindsay grinned at him, shaking his hand. "You're just as Gillian described you."

"Which is?"

"Something tells me you don't want to know," said Torres. She slid around him and shook Lindsay's hand as well. "Thanks for clearing your schedule, it must've been hard."

"Completely worth it," Lindsay said as she pointedly passed Cal and dropped her bag on the ground. "You must be Emily. You certainly take after your mom, absolutely beautiful."

Emily smiled bashfully then shook Lindsay's hand. "Where's Bobby junior?"

"He's in Boston with my friend Helen." Lindsay finally reached Gillian and gave her a hug. She whispered something in her ear, but Cal couldn't figure out what it was. It provoked a surprised response from Gillian, who pulled away with her deer caught in headlights expression.

Cal looked at Torres whose gaze was fixed on the door.

On Henri Toussaint, to be exact. Exhausted, disheveled, overwhelmingly relieved Henri Toussaint. For one long moment, everything was silent as Foster and Toussaint looked at each other for the first time in nearly fifteen years. Cal absently wondered if this was what it was like for others when he and Gillian were in the zone and no one else existed.

Proper etiquette would dictate that everyone clear out. Unfortunately, no one in that room except for Gillian observed anything near proper.

"Hey, Miss Gillian."

Foster looked down at her blanket and picked at a loose thread. Her shyness was borderline adorable. She looked up at Toussaint, gave him the flicker of an unfamiliar smile and responded softly, "Hi."

Lindsay cleared her throat and looked around. Oddly enough, Loker spoke up, "Maybe we should head down to the cafeteria. I think my sandwich is getting cold."

Cal frowned, but could tell Foster didn't want any of them around at the moment. At all, actually.

"Right," Cal glanced at his daughter. "C'mon Em, time to eat."

Emily and Foster exchanged a meaningful look. Walking around the bed, Emily grabbed Cal's hand and led him out of Foster's room.

When they returned a while later, it was to find Foster signing release papers. Apparently she was free to go home. Unsurprisingly, Lindsey was taking her back.

"How long are you staying for?" Cal asked Lindsay in the waiting room while Gillian got her final clearance from the staff psychiatrist.

"Just until tomorrow," she replied stiffly. "Henri is coming back with us, so I think we'll manage just fine."

"Of course he is," Cal said as he shoved his fists in his pockets. That was… perfect. Absolutely marvelous.

Lindsay glared at him reproachfully. "Listen, I know that you feel guilty about all this, but really? Get over yourself. Gillian knew what she was doing. She's alive and she'll be just fine. The best thing you can do is suck it up and provide her with the support she will no doubt need. Just… be there and listen."

Before he could reply, Gillian was being wheeled down the hall by the nurse's aid. Time to go.

"Can we have a minute?" he requested once they got off the elevator.

Lindsay looked to Gillian who nodded. "Fine, I'll meet you out front, Henri is getting the car."

Cal waited until Lindsay was gone before turning to Foster and kneeling on the ground. She wouldn't meet his eyes. She barely looked at him at all. "Is this how it's going to be?"

Gillian's shoulder inched upwards as she clasped her hands in her lap. "I just want to go home and feel safe. They can bring me that."

"You sure?"

Finally, her eyes inched upward and met his. He was crushed by the loss in them. It wasn't that she didn't even trust him anymore.

She'd lost faith in him completely.

"I guess I deserve that." Cal stood and wheeled her out. He watched scornfully as Henri bent and lifted her out of the wheelchair like she was a sack of feathers. Safely loaded in the car, Cal frowned at Lindsay waving meagerly while Henri gave a respectful nod before climbing inside.

Cal stood outside until he was completely numb.

.::.

When they arrived at Gillian's home late that evening, it was to find a gentleman replacing the panes of glass in her front door.

"Courtesy of Doctor Lightman," said the repairman as he grabbed his toolbox and left. Lindsay sighed in exasperation beside Gillian.

Gillian led the way inside on her crutches. The front half of her left foot had been spared in the fire, enabling her a way to hobble around. Were she not exhausted; she'd have cared about the appearance of everything in her home. Right now, she just wanted to get comfortable.

"C'mon. Let's get you a bath because no offense, but you stink."

Gillian shot Lindsay a disparaging glance. She turned to Henri and offered a weak smile. "You can stay in the guest room, you must be tired."

"Worry about yourself," he replied. "I'll be fine."

When they emerged from Gillian's bedroom nearly an hour later, Gillian had bathed and changed into her most comfortable pair of pajamas, complete with snowflakes and fluffy slippers.

"Much better," Henri observed as he brought in two mugs of tea for Lindsay and Gillian. "The soup will be ready in a few minutes if you can stay awake that long."

Disregarding how he managed to make a meal in _her_ kitchen, Gillian rolled her eyes at Henri. "I'm fine," Gillian grumbled. "I'm not taking anything else until I go to sleep."

She caught the worried exchange between Lindsay and Henri and fought the urge to kick them out. Sure, the pain was nearly overwhelming, but she was finally aware of everything around her. Including the awkwardness of this entire situation. There was… so much to consider.

When Gillian broke up with Henri, she gave him a year to get his act together. It took over three. When he finally turned up, Gillian was a month away from marrying Alec and nearing the completion of her doctorate. Unfortunately Henri had the misfortune of crossing paths with Gillian's overprotective, yet well-meaning cousin first and was sent packing. Gillian didn't even find out that Henri came by until Lindsay let it slip a week before her wedding.

It was not a pretty argument.

"Have you two…?" Gillian started, unsure as to how she should proceed.

"Yes," Lindsay replied as she looked across to Henri. "I apologized… For everything."

"I'm not quite sure an apology was necessary," Henri offered. "As you rightfully pointed out, I did miss my chance. Showing up when I did was in poor form."

"You didn't know she was getting married in a month," Lindsay replied. Gillian caught the quick pinch in his eyebrow, the flash of tension in his shoulders. _Sure he didn't._

"I knew that something was going on though, Colette said as much." Henri stood and retreated to the kitchen. Gillian remained quiet in her comfortable position on the couch, feeling no need to intervene in this conversation. At least it would be cathartic for those two. She had years to reconcile with Lindsay.

"Regardless," Lindsay said as they tucked in. "It's all in the past. All that matters now is getting you better." Gillian glanced over at her cousin, saw the warmth and certainty in her eyes, and felt genuine reassurance.

.::.

It was nearly two in the morning and Gillian couldn't fall asleep, despite the comfort of Lindsay's presence beside her. Henri had passed out shortly after dinner and Lindsay spent the evening getting everything in order for the week ahead. Setting up meetings and speaking with the authorities was a necessary evil with which Lindsay had experience.

"I can't sleep," Lindsay turned on her side and propped her head up with her fist. "What does your throat feel like?"

"Like I swallowed a cat with all its nails pointing out," Gillian absently ran her hand over the bandage around her throat. "I'm trying to block out my feet all together."

"I can't even fathom the pain."

They lay in silence for a few moments trying to _not_ think about the pain. "Any advice on how to handle all this?"

Lindsay's eyebrows furrowed in thought as she stared in the space between them. It wasn't often that Gillian asked for advice. She always seemed to have an answer for everything.

"Don't let anyone tell you what you ought to feel or how you should act and don't make excuses either. Just because you prepared yourself for the chance of this happening, doesn't mean that you've been affected any less. Just…" Lindsay stopped a moment and shook her head. "Just don't shut everyone out. Pretending like nothing is wrong doesn't make it go away."

Gillian was surprised by this outburst. Something told her Lindsay wanted to impart this hard and unfortunate earned knowledge from the start. She frowned at the silence encasing the room, mocking them both. Two women, so alike, yet so different. Lindsay was only person in the entire world to whom she could entrust every emotion without manipulation or ridicule.

"I'm terrified," Gillian blurted, breaking the somber spell. She felt Lindsay reach over and grab her hand, the same way she used to when they were kids — afraid of the terrors of the night.

Minutes later: "Are you okay with Henri staying here?"

Gillian shrugged. "I'm not the best patient. He'll be begging to go by the end of the week."

"Somehow I doubt that," Lindsay replied. "Is it weird, seeing him again?"

Gillian considered her words for a second, "It's easier to let your guard down when there's an ocean separating you."

"True… Did you finally tell him? About the baby?"

Gillian bit her lip and nodded. "I don't think he took it well."

Lindsay wisely kept her mouth shut. Silence lapsed for so long that Gillian wondered if Lindsay fell asleep.

"Hey Linds?"

"Hmmm?"

"Is Bobby the one who sucks your elbows?"

Gillian felt a pinch at her side and a huff from Lindsay. "Bite me."

.::.

Lindsay left on Wednesday after securing a stack of books, magazines, and a hearty supply of teeth-rotting sweets. By the end of the week Gillian was able to walk relatively well, but still used the crutches for ease of use. Other than that, things were pretty quiet. Henri was around, but not. It was all very peculiar. He'd tidy up, read books, watch movies, and make them dinner. He kept a caring, watchful eye on her at all times, but that was it. The emotional distance he created would give Cal a run for his money.

Sitting in her living room, Gillian looked out over the assortment of flowers, cards, and balloons. Of the many guests that had come to visit, one person had been distinctly absent —the most important of them all. She wasn't sure what to think of his absence, but she knew what she felt, and it was extreme hurt and frustration.

"Gill?" called Henri. "You have a visitor — Torres." Henri led Torres into her living room. "I'm going to pick up stuff for dinner. Do you want to join us?"

Eyebrows darting upwards, Torres fumbled a moment. "Uh, no? No. Thank you. I… have plans."

Henri, befuddled, glanced at Gillian who waved him off. "She's busy with Loker. I imagine he feeds her well. Please don't forget the peppers."

Henri smirked as he grabbed her keys. "As you wish."

Torres arched her eyebrow at Gillian as Henri took his leave. "So, how are things going?"

"I'm going to assume you intended that in the professional sense. I finished payroll and took a look at those files as you requested. Why didn't you bring it up with Lightman?"

"He won't leave his office."

"Of course he would resort to this," Gillian rolled her eyes. "That explains a lot."

Not wanting to get stuck in the middle, Torres bit her lip indecisively and changed subjects. "Has John Bradford stopped by?"

"Yes, he still wants to move forward with the project. The official announcement will be on Monday."

Torres's eyebrows drew together, perplexed. "But… without you?"

"Actually," Gillian sat up a little and cocked her head to the side, surveying Torres. "I suggested that you attend the meeting with him."

Torres was already shaking her head before Gillian could finish. "No. This meeting is in front of the heads of Homeland Security, Department of Defense, and the Chiefs of Staff. There is no way I'm going to be able to stand up there and discuss _your_ life's work. No way."

"Ria, I wouldn't ask you if I didn't think you could handle it," Gillian stated. "I have the utmost confidence in you."

The irony of their situation was not lost on Torres. Gillian's words had the intended effect, causing Torres to clench her jaw and look away in shame.

"Gillian —"

"Don't worry about it," Gillian replied, reading the sincerity of Torres's apology across her face. "I should have made a stronger case to get everyone to help me."

"You shouldn't have had to ask at all."

Gillian reached out and squeezed her hand. "What do you say? A meeting at the Pentagon on Monday?"

Torres smiled weakly. "I appreciate your faith in me, but… I respectfully decline. Let's see if we can postpone it for another week. I think you have a credible excuse."

"Yeah, we'll see," Gillian shrugged. They talked a bit longer, Torres dutifully supplying Gillian an update of all the goings-on in the office. Standing to leave, she turned once more to face Gillian, finally letting the alarm and fear show.

"What do I do about Lightman?"

"Nothing," Gillian replied as she pulled open the front door. "He dug his own hole. Let him get out on his own."

.::.

Monday night and it was late.

Cal wasn't sure of the time exactly, but he hadn't heard any rumblings outside his office in several hours. Slowly rising from his spot on the floor, he gathered his energy to shuffle into the staff lounge. Pilfering someone's lunch, he returned to his office, the dim lights casting a melancholy glow.

Sitting at his desk was the proverbial thorn in his side, Henri Toussaint.

"What the hell are you doin' here?"

Leaning back in the chair and swiveling slowly, he leveled Cal with an assured look. No fear, no bravado, no doubt — just wholehearted determination.

"We need to talk."

.::.::.::.

A/N: 1. Next chapter will deal with the psychological fallout. 2. If this chapter seems awful and disjointed, I apologize. I can hardly write anymore. 3. Thanks for reading. Any concrit is greatly appreciated.


	15. Chapter 15

**The Lies We Tell (15/15)**

AN: Sorry this is freakishly long. Thanks for reading.

.::.::.::.

She didn't have nightmares. Not all the time. But when she did, it was the kind of nightmare she bore in silence.

When she dreamed, it was of a night at the circus.

.::.

_It's a grand tent, multicolored and bright. It smells of cotton candy, stale popcorn, and elephant dung. She's always in different locations. Tonight, she's on the trapeze, and she is amazing._

_She twists, she twirls, she flips, she flies._

_It's exhilarating._

_She's about to perform the final feat of gravity. Standing on the pedestal, she looks out at the crowd. Suddenly everyone evaporates and all that remain are Loker, Torres, and Henri. She looks across and sees Cal. He's hanging upside down from a bar ever so appropriately, waiting for gravity to take over._

_She pushes off, clinging tightly to the bar. She twists and readies to let go, expecting to feel Cal's hand._

_But he's not there, just an empty bar._

_And she falls._

_Falls._

_Falls._

_Into the arms of a monster._

.::.

One week. One week and two days since she'd been rescued. It had been rough and all things considered, Gillian wasn't sure she was handling it well. Her therapist visited regularly and they were making slow progress, but progress all the same. Her tri-weekly visits from her physical therapist were another matter entirely. Those were more along the lines of torture than anything else. All in all, it made her… moody. Yes. She'd been quite moody lately.

She walked out of her bathroom, clad only in her underwear and bra. Just as she opened her top dresser drawer, she heard a knock on the door.

"I'm changing. I'll be out in a minute."

"Oh, by all means, take your time." There was a shuffle and what sounded like someone sliding to the ground. Raising her eyebrow curiously, she continued to slide into her yoga pants and a t-shit — her uniform of convalescence.

"What happened?" It was soft at first, so soft that she thought she didn't hear anything. But then — "that night? What happened?"

She'd been waiting for this; surprised that it had taken him so long. Grabbing the throw blanket off her bed, she wrapped it around her shoulders and walked to her door. Leaning her forehead against the wood, she let out a long breath.

"I… was on the metro. That's when I last saw Susan and Larry. Le Fort took a seat right behind me and said that he'd shoot the woman behind him if I did anything to attract attention.

_"What do you want?"_

_"I want you to shut up. Get out at the next stop. Walk to the stairs at the far end and toss your purse in the trash. You do anything different, and I'll shoot every person between me and you."_

_She did as she was told, angry that he used innocent people against her. He walked up behind her and followed her upstairs, well in view of the cameras. Once they got outside, he pushed her toward the lot where there was a fine layer of snow on the ground. She walked straight ahead, trying with all her might not to run for cover. Nearing the end of the parking lot, she didn't see a soul around._

_Her next move was impetuous and completely lacking in any forethought whatsoever. She jerked away, elbowed him in the jaw, kneed him in the gut, then kicked him in the groin. _

_"_You didn't!"

"I sure did," she replied as she smiled at the memory. "It was short-lived though. You see, I had to take off my heels so he wouldn't hear me, but then I was running in a snowy parking lot, leaving my trail."

"He caught up?"

"Yeah, and he wasn't happy."

_"You rotten whore. You just made your ride that much more unpleasant." He had her face pressed into the ground, his knee digging into her back. She felt a sharp pinch in her upper arm, after which she slowly became paralyzed. He threw her over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes and then tossed her into his cold, damp trunk. _

"He must've sedated me, because I woke up in his basement, bound and naked… and sick. I'd thrown up several times. It was completely dark and it smelled… like a rotting corpse bled to death in a port-a-potty."

"Lovely."

"You have no idea. He waited a while to come down stairs. When he did, he told me what he was going to do to me, to let me think about it a while, then came back later and let me watch as a young woman died. A lot of it was Le Fort exerting his control over me. Nothing really happened until much later."

"Is that when he hung you from that chain?"

Gillian bit her lip, trying to push aside the memory, but just thinking about it made her shoulders tense tightly. She continued on in cold, clinical efficiency, as though describing some horrific movie she'd watched.

"Yes. My hands were bound behind me and then he suspended me in the air with the chain so it felt like my shoulders were going to pop out of the socket with every breath."

"What about the manacle?"

Her hand glided to her neck, running over the scabs dotting her skin. "He did that in the beginning, after I woke up. It was so I wouldn't make any noise."

"Did he hang any weights from your feet? While you were suspended?"

"He was about to, but then there was a noise upstairs."

"The Bald Man?"

"Yeah. He ran upstairs to investigate and Ivana came over and got me down. When he returned, we were too weak to really fight back. He pulled us upstairs by our hair. Once we reached the top, he injected me with the paralytic again. While he was distracted, the Bald Man attacked him, and Ivana knocked over the kerosene lamp."

"I can't… I can't even imagine what it must've been like. How'd you even get out?"

"Ivana. I briefly had function of my arms, which helped. But then she had to drag me down the steps."

"That's how you got the gash on the back of your head?"

She reached up and ran her fingers over the scabbed staples keeping her scalp together. Those would be gone in a day or so.

"Yeah. We didn't make it very far, but the snow cooled the burns. I can't decide whether the hypothermia helped or hurt."

"What worries me is that we don't know whether Le Fort made it out or not."

Head bent, Gillian picked at a frayed end of her blanket, watching her fingers tug at the fabric. "He didn't."

"How do you know?"

"He was shot in the head."

"By the bald man?"

No hesitation, just steady, pitch-perfect flow. "Yes."

He exhaled loudly, letting the back of his head thump against her bedroom door. They sat in silence, him running over her words, her reliving that morning.

"Gill?"

She didn't respond, just slowly drew her knees to her chest, carefully easing her left leg as the skin stretched beyond its means.

"I miss you."

Huffing softly, she pressed her forehead to her knees. He could pack so much into three small words: apology, regret, fear, doubt, sorrow.

"All those times… that you risked your life, did it make you re-evaluate things? Sort of take stock of your life?"

A shuffle of fabric against the door. "Sometimes. Not always."

"Did it depend on how close you were to dying?"

"Nah. Just on how much I'd lose."

Her eyebrows jumped up then dipped low as her brow furrowed. His honesty was refreshing. It still hurt though. "And yet, you keep doing it."

"Maybe I'm hoping that one time I'll come home and feel differently."

She got his message, painful as it was. _Maybe he'll come home and be ready for more than… this. Maybe._

"Who knows?" she replied archly. "Maybe you won't come home next time."

Her anger was still very real and very raw. He laughed then shuffled to a standing position.

"Fair enough," his voice was stiff. "Coming to the Christmas Party? Everyone'll want to see you."

She shrugged to no one. "We'll see. I need to… evaluate things."

"Right."

Frowning, she thought of something. "Oh and Cal? It's _Gillian_."

He didn't reply, just tapped her door with his hand familiarly then left.

.::.

A short while later, a fuming Gillian entered the kitchen and found Henri reading his newspaper at her kitchen table. "You visited Cal."

"Yes I did." He didn't bother looking up, just turned the page.

"You had no right to do that."

"Sure I did."

"Please explain to me how you, a guest in my home, took it upon yourself to talk to my business partner. If he doesn't want to see me, then by all means, he can stay the hell away."

At the rise in her voice, Henri finally looked up and carefully folded his newspaper. "You're acting childish."

"Me? You're the one who went over there behind my back."

"All I did was have a nice chat with him," Henri replied as he stood. "He was drowning in despair."

"Why should I care?"

"Because you're in love with him."

The mere utterance of the phrase sent fury through her body. "You couldn't be more mistaken."

Henri shook his head in disbelief. "That's just the fear talking."

"Okay, if I'm in love with Cal, why is he the star of all my nightmares? Why is it that every. single. night. he is the reason why I die? Why is it that the thought of that man only creates the feeling of betrayal? He has treated me horribly for the past year. I can assure you, Henri, that there is no amount of love that could make up for everything we've been through. None."

Silence rung out as the air around them grew tense.

"And for that matter, why the hell are you even here?" she yelled. "I'm alive and I'm fine. As appreciative as I am that you came out here, I don't need you to make sure I eat my dinner and take my pills. I…" her voice cracked as she tried to swallow the knot in her throat. "I am…"

Henri walked over to her slowly. She pushed him away, shaking her head. Still, he persisted, even as she beat her fists against his chest. Finally succumbing to the overwhelming anguish, she broke down in his arms, her tears falling freely. He remained silent and still, his chinned propped atop her head.

Later, when her hiccups dissipated and her cheeks were no longer flushed, he made her a cup of tea. She stared into her cup as silence lapsed. It wasn't uncomfortable, it just was.

"Miss Gillian?"

"Hmmm?"

"What do you say about you and I having an adventure this afternoon?"

For the first time in a week, her smile was bright and genuine. "I thought you'd never ask."

.::.

By the end of the week, their outings became the highlight of Gillian's day. Gillian took it upon herself to be Henri's personal tour guide. At first their brief outings were simple — to the Washington Monument or to The Smithsonian's American History Museum. All the while, they settled into the ease of two old friends, conversation and comfortable silence accompanying them throughout their days.

Today the weather was marked by cold blustery wind and inevitable snow. It made Gillian irritable and Henri didn't deserve that. Longing for solitude, she holed herself away in her office for most the morning.

A knock at the door stirred Gillian from her numbers-induced haze. "Yes?"

"I haven't heard any sound come from in here for a couple hours. Just making sure you haven't plotted the end of the world or anything."

"No, that's tomorrow. What's up?"

Henri flashed her a quick, excited smile. "I want to show you something."

Casting him a dubious look, she pushed away from the desk and stood slowly. He led the way into the living room where she was surprised to find that she was in the middle of a winter wonderland. Her mantle was covered with garland and poinsettias, complete with stockings and lights. Her fat Santas, skinny Santas, Santas with reindeer and Santas with presents sat on various surfaces. Her grand-mere's winter village took over her entry table. There was only one noticeable absence.

"I got out the tree skirt and the stand," Henri explained as her eyes fell on the skirt, "but you're going to have to come with me to get the tree, I couldn't figure out a way to get it inside without you hearing. Anyway, I know your favorite part is hanging the ornaments."

Speechless, Gillian shook her head to herself in disbelief. "I don't… how did you? Where did you even find all this?"

"The storage unit," Henri offered. "Do you like it?"

She clapped her hands together and brought them to her mouth, hiding her ridiculous smile. "It's perfect. Thank you… very much." She pulled him in for a hug, tight and firm, taking in his warmth and his scent. Gillian felt the strength in his hold, the way he tucked his chin against the top of her head.

Just the way he used to.

"You're welcome," he whispered. "That smile was certainly worth it, Miss Gillian."

He pulled away and grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Come on, we need to get out there and get our tree before the snow hits."

"Let me change clothes. I'll be out in ten." Excited, Gillian returned to her room to change. It wasn't until she emerged ten minutes later that she realized the smile hadn't left her face.

'Tis the season.

.::.

_Tonight, she's in some ridiculous get-up: top hat, dress coat, and black sheer stockings. _

_She looks like a rockette reject._

_Her elephant, affectionately referred to as Marshmallow, is feeling particularly mischievous. Gillian rubs behind his ears then climbs onto Marshmallow's back. The curtain lifts and she rides into the center ring._

_Standing on the railing rousing the crowd, is the ringmaster — Cal. He's wearing a flamboyant orange coat and has a whimsical mustache that he twists fondly. He wields his whip as she balances on Marshmallow's back. She about to signal for her metal-rings while he calls for silence. _

_Cal has a surprise for the crowd and an excited chorus responds. Another curtain is lifted and Lucifer emerges._

_He is a lion and hasn't eaten for days._

_Marshmallow gets flustered and raises back on his hind legs, causing Gillian to fall off and hit her head on the dirt ground. Chaos ensues. The crowd clears as animals run amuck. Gillian tries to get up, falters, calls for help. Cal appears and holds out his hand. She reaches, but her fingers slip through as he is whisked away by Loker and Torres._

_All that remains is her and Lucifer, licking his lips in delight._

_He is a lion and hasn't eaten for days._

.::.

It was Wednesday afternoon, a couple days before the Christmas party. Gillian had already been quite productive, having seen her shrink, met with John Bradford, and most importantly — had a much-needed visit with her hair stylist. Not only that, but she had a fun-filled afternoon of agony with her physical therapist to look forward to.

Just after Gillian arrived at home, the doorbell rang.

"Emily!" Gillian opened the door wide to let her inside.

"Hey! I come bearing gifts," Emily said as she walked into the living room. "Wow! It looks great in here."

"Thanks, isn't it wonderful? Henri did most of it."

"Oh," said Emily as she smiled mischievously. Never a good sign.

"Want some tea?"

"No, I just came by to drop off something." Emily bent and pulled something out of her bag. It was a tin. _Her_ tin.

"Where'd you get that?"

"Me and Dad broke in during that snow storm. I saw this on your coffee table. And yes, I did go through it."

Gillian frowned. Oh God. What if —

"No, Dad hasn't seen it. I'm the only one who's looked through it." Emily set the tin in Gillian's lap. "I don't understand though. What were all these adventures about?"

"What do you mean?"

"You had over three hundred postcards with something written in French, signed by you and Henri then numbered and dated."

"It was something we used to do when we were younger, almost like a photo album," Gillian replied as contemplated the lid. "What else did you find?"

"You haven't looked in it?"

"Not in years."

Emily leaned over quickly and popped open the tin. She pulled out the stack of postcards and grabbed a smaller stack of photographs. Thumbing through them quickly, she pulled up one in question.

"How old were you in this?"

Gillian's eyes widened as she plucked the picture from Emily's grasp. It was a black and white photograph. Gillian was naked as the day she was born and sitting Indian-style, the shadows covering strategic locations.

"Old enough to know better. I can tell you right now, it will never, ever be a good idea to do anything like this."

"But _you_ did it."

"Yes, before the internet. I'd never in a million years do anything like it again."

"I think you should put it up in the lobby."

Gillian arched her eyebrow in disapproval.

"Fine. What about… this post card? This is one of the only ones without anything written on the back." Gillian scanned the vintage post card with the banner 'Bienvenidos a Buenos Aires'.

"I don't even remember where this came from. It's always been somewhere I'd like to go though."

"Why haven't you?" Emily looked at Gillian with the innocent clarity of someone who's never had to travel alone.

Gillian shrugged, "You know, I don't have a good reason."

"No time like the present," Emily replied simply. She pulled out another picture and held it up with a questioning look on her face.

"I was twenty and spent a summer traveling through parts of Europe with my friends. This was in Munich and that was our very… well-endowed barmaid."

For the next fifteen minutes, Gillian looked through the pictures with Emily, laughing at intervals as she relayed some colorful events of her youth.

"I had no idea you did all of this. Do you still keep in touch with any of them?"

Gillian smiled at Emily who had squeezed closer to her on the sofa. "Some, yes. I talk to Colette the most. She married a barrister and lives in London.

"What about this one? Luc, right?"

Gillian's smile faltered as she picked up the photo. It was the photo of her, Henri, and Luc. It still made her chest hurt to look at.

"Luc was killed in Rwanda when we were twenty-four." It was strange to say it aloud, in English, no less.

"Oh," Emily bit her lip, frowning at touching on an unhappy subject. "Were you close?"

"Outside of Henri, Luc was my best friend. He had such a great sense of humor and this laugh… you could pick him out of a crowd."

Frowning, Gillian returned everything to the tin.

"I need to get back. I told Dad I was out getting his Christmas present."

"Oh? What are you getting him?"

"Coal."

"Emily!"

"He's getting other stuff too, but I thought the coal was appropriate."

Gillian cocked her head to the side then nodded, "Good point."

Emily pulled on her coat and gave Gillian a tight hug. "You look great, really. You're coming to the Christmas party, right? I got a tree and Liam's going to help me decorate tonight."

Gillian smiled at Emily's earnestness. "Of course, Em. Let me know if you need any help."

Emily said goodbye, giving Gillian a chance to reflect over the pictures. There was so much history contained in that one box. Someday, she'd be able to go through it with Henri.

Gillian picked up the tin and walked into her bedroom closet. Squatting gingerly, she lifted an aged shoebox and placed the tin on the carpet. Curious as to its contents, Gillian rocked back on her heels and cracked the lid of the shoebox, sighing.

She really did keep mementos of everything.

.::.

"Okay, you've imbibed me with spirits, filled me with gourmet food, and now I'm suspicious, so what's up?" asked Henri as he dried the dishes while she washed.

"I'd hardly say beer and pizza would qualify as gourmet," said Gillian as flicked some dish bubbles at him.

"Yeah, but that pizza was homemade. Is that the recipe you conned off that little Lothario when we were in Rome?"

Gillian smirked. "Which one?"

"Hmph," Henri rolled up his dishtowel and let it fly. "Seriously though, that was great."

"You're welcome. I figured it's the least I could do."

"What, after making me spend the last," he counted out on his fingers, "one, two, three weeks at your beck and call, catering to your every need?"

"I'd hardly say you were my slave."

"Don't act like it's never crossed your mind." Henri bent beneath the counter to pull out a container to store the remaining pizza. "Really, though, I'd say your were mostly fine after the first week. Watching you go through PT was…. comical at times."

"I'm glad you found delight in my misfortune." Gillian replied as they lapsed into silence. Wiping down the counter, something he said struck her as curious. "Why… If you thought I was doing okay, then… why did you stay?"

She watched him closely as he considered his words. "You were fine physically, Gill. But mentally?" He shook his head. He was telling the truth, but he was holding something back.

"Hey, I was doing okay."

"Sure, you were _okay_. If you call sleeping two hours a night, barely eating, and staring into the fireplace for hours on end 'Okay'."

She frowned. He was right. In retrospect, his recollection of events was more accurate than hers. She'd been a zombie much of the time.

"You didn't really turn the corner until Lightman came that one day."

Gillian remained silent, picking at the sponge. She glanced at her wrist, mostly healed, save for a mark that would likely remain a scar. At least she'd figured out what to do where Cal was concerned. She'd even visited Zoe to get her opinion.

"Hey." Henri stood beside her, but she kept her eyes fixed on the counter. His hand slid beneath her chin as he cupped her cheek, turning her to him. "You're doing great now. You're sleeping more and eating, you're not as…" he searched for a non-vulgar term, "shrew-like?"

Gillian pulled away, scoffing. Henri shrugged and took one last swig of his beer, looking away.

"Regardless, if you want the truth from me," Henri said, his voice hard and serious, "all you have to do is ask. I've been nothing but honest with you since I've been here. No need to look at me like I'm one of your suspects." He set his bottle in the recycling and left the kitchen.

Chastened, Gillian left him alone; her guilt growing as evening became night. Later, she found him standing out on her balcony in the cold. She was hesitant to go out, but her need to apologize was too strong.

"What are you doing?" Henri admonished. "Get back inside, it's freezing."

"You're out here."

"I didn't recently suffer hypothermia."

Gillian defiantly wrapped her arms around herself as she leaned her back against the rail, facing him. "I'm sorry," she started bluntly. "I don't even know when I do it anymore. I just… I guess I've grown a lot more weary of others in the past couple years. Professional hazard."

Henri nodded, frowning as he watched the street below. "And that's the problem, isn't it? You view me as… as _them_." He tapped the rail with his fingers idly, nervous. "Whereas when I look at you, I still see the woman I wanted to marry, the woman I wanted to be the mother of my children. The woman I wanted to grow old with."

Gillian, taken aback, stared at her feet as she searched for something to say. "I didn't… I didn't know you felt that way," she murmured. "The whole time you've been here, you've acted like —"

"Like a friend who wanted to make sure you were taken care of and wanted you to get better? I had no design when I came out here, Gill. It was a reflex."

Gillian raised her left shoulder sheepishly as she glanced at him, an apologetic smile on her face. "Yes, but you've been so cold… distant."

He let out a gruff laugh. "View it as a measure of self-preservation… It wasn't easy, I assure you."

Gillian's head fell to the side as she watched him, the way he kept his gaze fixed stubbornly away from her. There was a reason for that.

"Look at me," she asked as she placed her hand on his arm. He bit his lip, shaking his head to himself. "Henri —"

Slowly, he turned to her, eyes glistening. She saw the doubt in the pinch of his brow, the fear in the downward pull of his lips. But mostly, she saw the desire in his eyes as they wavered between her eyes and her lips. _Oh_.

And suddenly, they were kissing with years of anguish and longing and sadness fueling them. Gillian wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he pulled her close. She was overwhelmed. His heat, his taste, the feel of him. So familiar, yet so different. It was all too much. Somewhere along the way, she felt their kiss change from impetuous to fraught with mutual fear.

Few things were sadder than a kiss tinged with remorse and tears.

She wasn't sure who pulled away, but it was Henri who spoke. "I can't do this right now."

"Neither can I," she replied, her chest heaving in the same manner as his. Neither spoke for a moment, their eyes averted.

"You should go back in where it's warm. I'll come inside in a minute."

She did as was suggested and went to her kitchen where she set her kettle to boil for tea. Sitting at her table, she glanced up when he entered, looking properly chilled. He didn't say anything, just leaned against the counter, looking anywhere but at her.

"You broke my heart," he said suddenly, his voice raspy. "Shattered it, actually."

Wasn't that the crux of the matter? "You broke mine too."

Henri nodded as he shoved his hands in his pockets stubbornly. "Well, then I guess we're at an impasse."

Gillian didn't reply, just took a sip of her tea.

"I'm leaving the day after Christmas, unless you want me gone sooner."

"No, that's fine."

Henri turned and left without saying goodnight. Gillian remained in the kitchen until her tea grew cold, ignoring the sharp pain in her chest.

.::.

_This is the worst yet._

_The atmosphere is not jovial. Instead it is a garish mockery of a circus — all distorted figures and obtrusive music. Like a bad trip on absinthe at a German metal concert._

_She staggers through the crowd, spots Loker — a sad clown with a crushed flower. Torres is a gypsy, pulling tarot cards and carrying her crystal ball. Henri is peddling peanuts. And Cal?_

_He's a firebreather._

_She walks to the base of an impossibly tall ladder and starts to climb, climb, climb. When she reaches the top she finds her balancing pole and tests its weight in her hands. She takes one step then another and another._

_This is her life, walking a tightrope._

_She walks forward, dips low, slides back, switches feet._

_The crowd gasps. She looks ahead and spots Cal. He takes a swig and lets loose a puff of fire, far-reaching and determined. She tries to back up, but he's behind her. In front of her. All around her._

_He creates the fire, encourages the fire, lets the fire consume her._

_Summoning some untapped fount of strength, she breaks free, reborn._

.::.

It was Christmas Eve, the night of the party. Gillian zipped up her knee-high boots and finished getting ready. Poor Henri was busy laboring over which wine to bring.

Much of the previous day had been spent uncomfortably, until Gillian broke down and properly apologized for leaving Henri after Luc's death. They'd also discussed his coming to Boston all those years ago with the actual intention of persuading her not to marry Alec. The most painful part was discussing the loss of the baby, but it was a long overdue conversation. Tears were shed, hugs were exchanged. It didn't fix everything, but it was a start.

Afterward, Henri grabbed her hand and had taken her out to dinner. It had been a lovely, comfortable evening between two old friends. Henri had done his best to retreat into that territory, and succeeded mostly… until now.

"You look," Henri's eyes raked her form as he cleared his throat. "You look gorgeous."

Gillian smiled demurely. "Thank you. You look handsome as well."

"Don't make me blush." Henri held up her black dress coat. "Your coat, Miss Gillian."

"Why thank you, kind sir," she replied as he helped her into her coat. "Are you ready for this?"

Henri picked up the wine and opened the door. "Only if you are."

"Fine. Let's do this."

.::.

Cal anchored a corner, admiring Emily's work. Lights were strung to and fro, garland was hung, and the abnormally large tree was decorated. There were even a few snowflakes here and there. Besides, Sinatra's Christmas was playing, none of that other rubbish.

"Em, it looks great," Cal said honestly, earning a dubious look from his daughter. "Really, it does."

"Thanks, but it wasn't all me. I had help."

"Ah yes, wouldn't want to forget Liam or the minions," Cal said as he looked around at all the graduate students that kept this place running.

"They're your employees Dad, be nice," Emily chided. Then he felt her stiffen beside him. "Dad… why is your… _you know_ here?"

Cal turned in time to see Wallowski hand her coat to Loker and accept a flute of champagne from Anna.

"Because," Cal turned to face Emily, "I invited her."

Emily shook her head, mouth agape. "I can't believe you."

"Yes you can. Look, there's your Mum. Go say 'hi'."

"And keep her away from Shazzer?"

"It's Detective Wallowski, Now go." He turned her towards Zoe who'd just entered with Donnell. "And make sure you let her have a chat with Liam."

"Hey, you." Wallowski sidled up to him and kissed him on the cheek. "I can't stay long, I've got to get to Mass."

"Hey, if you want to get on your knees —"

"Oh, stop. " She punched him in the arm, hard. "Look, it's the conquering hero."

Cal turned to see Foster enter with Toussaint. No one had noticed her yet. She seemed to be giving Toussaint a brief tour, motioning to various areas with her hands as he nodded.

Then, someone spotted her and all hell broke loose. It was like Foster was sharing the secrets of the universe as people came out of the woodwork, clamoring for a hug and a smile. He never got this kind of reception when he returned from any off his… activities. Of course, he'd never made national news and launched a PTSD defense program at the same time either.

"Jealous?" asked Torres from his other side. He frowned, no use in replying. "She looks good, don't you think?"

Cal watched as Foster finally got a second to breathe. Toussaint helped her with her coat; the range of motion in her shoulders was still limited. She wore a beautifully cut red dress with those knee-length boots that he figured he'd see a lot more of, considering the still healing scar on her leg. With her understated beauty, she looked like she always looked: effortlessly sophisticated and elegant.

"Better than when I last saw her," Cal replied, ignoring the way Torres scrutinized his features. Exasperated, she left them to greet Foster.

His eyes drawn to his partner, Cal turned back to an irritable Wallowski.

"You still haven't told her about us, have you?"

"When should I have done that?"

She shook her head, placing her hands on her hips. "You're unbelievable, you know that? You asked me to keep a patrol on her place 24/7 since she got back, and I did, no questions asked."

Cal grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the side. "Which I appreciate, I do. But you need to understand one thing: I lied," he stopped himself and began again, "I _have_ been lying to her — my _best friend_, for you and about you. So don't —"

"And you thought, _now _would be a good time to give her a heads up?"

"I imagine she's figured it out —" he paused at the alarm tightening around her eyes. Turning, he stood face-to-face with Gillian and Toussaint. Cal received a warning look from Toussaint before he turned to Foster.

"Hello, Detective, it's been a while," Gillian said as she held out her hand. "I'm afraid if you're trying to make Cal an honest man you have your work cut out for you, Lord knows I couldn't pull it off."

_Ouch. "_Hey, I'm right here."

"Glad you're safe and doing well, Dr. Foster. It's great to see you," replied Wallowski, completely ignoring Cal. Foster placed her hand on Toussaint's arm and introduced them, saying he was 'an old friend of hers.' _Sure he was_.

Foster still hadn't looked him straight in the eyes and until then, Cal wasn't budging. Wallowski continued a stilted conversation with Foster until she had to leave for Church, giving his hand a squeeze before leaving.

"I'm going to get a drink," said Henri. "Do either of you want anything?"

"Nah," Cal replied while Foster shook her head.

Foster turned to him, the model of passivity. "We need to talk."

Cal motioned for her to enter his office, well aware of the several pairs of eyes trailing them. Shutting the door behind him, Cal was unsettled at the thought that he had no idea where this could go. With her back to him, Gillian lowered her bag to the ground and turned around slowly, her shoulders back and chin held high.

They watched each other for an interminable moment, sizing each other up. Surprising them both, it was Cal who started first.

"You look lovely, Gillian."

Her jaw clenched as she nodded at him in thanks. She took a seat on the couch and patted the cushion beside her. Cal complied silently. She pulled a package out of her bag and set it between them.

"What's this?"

"What does it look like?"

"A box."

She nodded. "Do you remember our first official day working together?"

"Yeah. We drew out a plan in my kitchen, signed it with that shite pen that kept leaking and split a bottle of wine at ten in the morning."

She nudged the box forward. With all the care of a two year old, Cal ripped off the paper to reveal a tattered shoebox. Inside was a worn piece of paper, ripped from a legal pad. Beside it was that blasted pen, cap screwed tight. Rolling back and forth were the corks from the first bottle of wine and every anniversary bottle thereafter.

"I believe some would call you a hoarder."

Gillian smiled, looking at her hands clasped in her lap, then back to him. Cal felt unease settle in his stomach.

"Our contract," Cal whispered as he unfolded the piece of paper, scanning the outline and their promise to each other scribbled at the bottom.

Cal pursed his lips, uncertain as to how he should proceed. "I… don't know what to say. Why are you giving me this?"

Foster smiled sadly as she studied her hands in her lap for a moment, then up to him. He knew that look, it didn't bode well.

"When we started all this, it was you and me and the contents of that box. That was it. We came into this agreement as partners." Cal scratched his cheek and leaned to where he could see her features better. "Somewhere along the way — that changed… and I don't know why."

"Is this part of your re-evaluation, Foster? Are you trying to see where I fit in your new world?"

She smirked. "Yes. Yes I am. Because, what you seem so eager to overlook, Cal, is that I almost died." She paused, her tone softening. "Though, I think that I understand you a little better now, why you're always chasing that elusive sensation of near-death. It imparts this… extreme sense of invincibility. And it's dangerous. Because you're never going to feel that again."

"Delusions of immortality," Cal muttered as he picked up one of the corks.

"Sorry?"

"It's a delusion of immortality, Foster. And by the way, you're right. I am eager to forget that you almost died. Because you asked for my help, you came to me when you needed me most, and I turned you away. I haven't treated you properly for months and I know that." Cal stood up, needing distance.

"I don't even know why I do it. I'm hardest on those I love the most, I reckon. Still, testing your loyalty, getting you to lie for me, all of it." He could've gone on, but from her guarded expression, she knew his grievances well. "It makes me the worst kind of friend and…" he licked his lips and looked her straight in the eyes. "And I'm sorry."

Her eyes wavered back and forth as she read his genuine sorrow. She smiled at him, soft and familiar. "I believe you're a good man, Cal Lightman. I think you're too Machiavellian and definitely too hard on yourself. Still, you always try to do what you think is right, and I can't fault you for that."

Cal felt a 'but' coming.

"But it's time for things to change around here." She pulled a manila envelope out of her bag and stood as well, walking closer to him. "We always said that if we made it to the end of the decade, we'd make it all official. Here's your chance, Cal. A new contract for you to review and sign by January first."

Cal took the proffered envelope. It wasn't too heavy, but he had a feeling it contained a bit more detail than that slip of paper.

"This is… unexpected." Cal frowned as he set the envelope on the coffee table.

Gillian, somehow seeming taller than she used to, took a step closer. "If you meant everything you just said, then you'll at least take a look. You owe me that much."

She was right. He did. He owed her plenty. Looking up, he finally saw a crack in all that bravado. She was afraid. Afraid of him and what he might do. He hated that look. She watched him as he nodded, sincere and fully willing to do whatever it took to keep her. When understanding set in, a smile crept across her face, warm and comforting.

Cal took a step closer and wrapped her up in his arms, feeling the way she settled against him. They stood in silence, feeling the weight of the world lift off their shoulders as it righted itself again.

Her breath was hot on his neck as she whispered, "I missed you too."

Cal smiled, closing his eyes tight as squeezed her tighter. When they pulled away, she gave him a soft kiss on his forehead and smiled brightly. She was coming back, his Foster.

"I'll see you out there?"

"You bet," Cal replied as he followed her to the door. Leaning against the ledge, Cal watched as she glided her Fosterly way over to Toussaint, giving him a radiant smile. He pulled her in briefly and kissed her temple, then let her go as he continued talking with Donnell. _Figures they'd like each other._

Gillian looked back at Cal and winked, motioning for him to join them. Rolling his eyes, Cal shoved his hands in his pockets and pushed off from the doorframe. Approaching her, it struck him how clever she'd been in his office. _Well played, Foster. Well played._ She seemed to read some of this revelation on his face, grinning at him mischievously.

"Welcome back Doctor Foster." _I'll sign the contract, no matter what it says._

Her smiled dropped for a moment, then she nodded. "Thank you, Doctor Lightman. It's good to be back."

.::.

The night after the party, Gillian slept long and hard. She woke the next morning to hot cocoa and presents with Henri. They enjoyed their last day together, reveling in the quiet familiarity. When she drove him to the airport the next morning, they kissed each other soundly, promising to keep in contact.

The following day, Gillian returned to the same airport with a carry-on bag in tow. She scanned the list of departures then walked up to the ticket counter where a tall blonde stood, smiling.

"Happy Holidays, ma'am," she stated with a southern drawl. "How can I help you?"

Gillian smiled warmly as she pulled out her passport and credit card. "I'd like a round-trip ticket to Buenos Aires, please. I'd like to be back by the first."

"Alrighty, and how many passengers?"

Taking a fortifying breath, Gillian replied, "One…. Just one."

No time like the present, indeed.

_fin_

.::.::.::.

AN: I'd apologize for the length, but I don't care anymore and I liked all those parts, so whatever. Thanks to all of you who've reviewed, your comments kept me going when I wanted to quit. 2. I will be converting this story into a PDF. If anyone wishes to have a copy, please leave a comment or go to my LJ page and I'll send you one.

3. OH. RIGHT. ONE MORE THING. THERE WILL BE A SHORT EPILOGUE. In a couple days.


	16. Epilogue

A/N: I said I'd write an epilogue and here it is. This will be my final offering to the fandom. Thanks for reading, please enjoy.

.::.::.::.

_Previously: _

_Gillian smiled warmly as she pulled out her passport and credit card. "I'd like a round-trip ticket to Buenos Aires, please. I'd like to be back by the first."_

_"Alrighty, and how many passengers?"_

_Taking a fortifying breath, Gillian replied, "One…. Just one."_

.::.::.::.::.::.

**January**

Foster returns looking sun-kissed and rejuvenated. At their weekly meeting, she glances at Cal then looks around the room and asks, "Do I need to clear any rumors or answer any questions?"

At first, no one says a word.

Then Anna raises her hand. Another is raised. And another. And so on.

Nearly an hour later and the meeting is over. Cal watches Foster as she leaves the empty conference room, her usual sway a little stiff, her shoulders a little curved.

A week passes unceremoniously. They don't talk much and he hates it. He never realized how comforting it was — knowing that she was working late with him at the office — until he didn't feel right stopping in for a drink and a chat.

Cal has a quiet dinner with his _you know._ They both agree that while it was great, perhaps he should _find another trigger to squeeze._

A couple days later, Foster strolls into his office looking glum. She hides it well, but the pull at her eyes is hard to miss.

"Fancy a drink later?"

She looks up from her file, blinks slowly and shakes her head. "No, thanks."

The invisible wall erected and deafening silence that lapses is disheartening.

**February**

Ria sits on the floor of her office, files spread all around. She's working on another of Foster's projects. She finds herself overwhelmed and out of her league. She may be a natural, but it doesn't make up for lack of a strong foundation.

She dutifully inhales books that trip off Foster's tongue like she read them yesterday. Both Georgetown and American Universities have approached Foster with assistant professor positions. She doesn't say as much, but Ria knows Foster is considering part-time.

"Ria, what are you still doing here? It's nearly eight." Foster is leaning against the doorjamb, looking immaculate despite the hour.

"You wanted the results from the control group by tomorrow." She stretches and works her neck from side-to-side.

"Well, two is better than one. Let's relocate to the conference room. I'll order in."

They pour over files, cataloguing, hypothesizing, discussing _classical_ and _operant_ conditioning.

"Would you like to go to college?" Foster asks suddenly. Ria does a double take.

"Are you offering?" Ria jokes, because that's a borderline ludicrous question.

Foster observes as much, but only smiles the smile of one who _knows_ how to talk her way out of a situation.

Three endless weeks later, Ria enters Foster's office and takes a seat. When her mentor gets off the phone with a client, she looks up and smiles at Ria knowingly.

"Change your mind?"

Ria takes a deep breath, "It's such a big —"

There's a knock at the door. Foster's smile falters in confusion. Ria turns to see Henri Toussaint standing in the doorway, looking hopeful and holding a yellow daisy like it's the sun that's been missing lately.

"Hi." Foster's voice is soft and warm in way that makes it seem she just woke from a deep hibernation. Ria clears the room without Foster or Toussaint noticing. All she hears is hushed French and musical laughter. An hour later, they're walking down the hall and stop outside Ria's office.

"Do you know any good places to Salsa?"

Ria swallows her surprise and directs them to her favorite spot in town. Just as they walk away, Foster stops and turns. "Ria? You'll need to talk to a counselor. I made an appointment with one of my friends at Georgetown. Also, I have an SAT prep book sitting behind my desk. You should sign up."

Eyebrows climbing upward, Ria watches in befuddlement as they walk away, hand-in-hand.

**March**

Henri stays for over a week, crossing over into March. On his second-to-last day, she feels his gaze over the tumble of sheets and duvet. He turns on his side, props himself up on an elbow and runs his other hand through her hair.

"I'm a mess."

"A beautiful mess." He leans in and nuzzles her neck, placing a kiss on her collarbone. His two-day scruff tickles as he presses his lips against her skin.

Biting her lip, she murmurs, "We're going to have to get out of this bed sometime."

"Why bother? You'll just give me that _look_ then I'll have to cart you back here or wherever and do it all over again."

She laughs and smacks him on the shoulder. "Mmmm. Good point."

Gillian rolls on top of him and braces her forearms on either side of his head. Instead of the lascivious grin she expected, he's frowning, brow furrowed.

"What?"

He deliberates for a moment, not meeting her gaze. "Do you think we could make this work?"

Stiffening, she huffs and sits up, still straddling him. Her stomach bottoms out in the process, replacing everything warm and fuzzy with dreadful cold. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she hesitates, looking up and out. Worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, she slowly shakes her head.

"I have my company and you just got promoted. If either of us quit and moved, we'd be with each other, but the resentment would always be there… festering." Her words echo in the silence settling around them like sticky fog. She swallows hard and slides off, turning her back to him as she draws her knees towards her chest.

He murmurs, "I was afraid you'd say that."

"Then why'd you come?"

Silence lapses and she wonders if he's going to reply. Glancing back, she sees him pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes shut tight.

"Because…" he frowns and exhales haggardly, "because I'd always wonder… Doing," he motions with his free hand between them, "this, being with you, feeling this way… it's is a risk I was willing to take."

Still looking at him over her shoulder, she presses her mouth against her arm, trying to hold in the sob begging to escape.

"… And I'd do it again in a heartbeat, because a week spent with you is worth waiting a year alone."

Gillian turns forward and with all the bravado of a two-year old, becomes a blubbering mess. Not even the warmth of his palm on the small of her back can augment the crushing sensation in her chest.

When she takes him to the airport a subdued two days later, she nearly leaves with him. By the time Autumn arrives, she will still wonder if she made the right decision.

**APRIL**

Anna is a morning person in every sense of the word. She loves the brisk morning air, she loves the first cup of coffee, she loves starting a new day.

She also loves watching everyone arrive. It's become a hobby to predict how the day will go based on the way her bosses enter. Lately though, she's dreaded coming to work. Dr. Foster left her smile in March and Dr. Lightman only communicates through monosyllables. The past three weeks have been particularly strained between the pair.

Needless to say it's been unpleasant.

They don't take cases together, they rarely eat together. Group meetings are practically the only interaction that she ever sees. It feels like they've separated and haven't told the kids about it yet.

It doesn't help that Dr. Foster has been… well, it's like whatever was keeping her together isn't there any more. Anna wonders what happened. It probably has something to do with that French guy with the beautiful brown eyes. _Men_.

Ah, there's the good doctor now. "Hey Dr. Foster," Anna sits up and smiles. "I have two messages for you."

"Thanks, Anna." Dr. Foster looks up from her file, devoid of all warmth. "I'm heading out for lunch. Would you mind asking around if anyone wants anything?"

"Certainly."

"Hold that thought," it's Dr. Lightman. He's just come from his office and has that look, that determined, dog on a scent look. "I'd like to take you out to lunch, Foster. Name the place."

Anna watches in silent awe as Dr. Foster looks from her file to Dr. Lightman. She can tell Dr. Foster is about to say no, the way her lips turn downward slightly and her eyes narrow a bit.

"I'm not taking 'no' for an answer, Foster. You and me. It doesn't have to be long."

"Cal…"

"Please?" he says quietly then clears his throat, as though it were an accident. Anna is surprised by the trace of desperation in his voice. She gathers this has been an ongoing theme between them lately. Him asking and her saying no. Maybe always.

Something worked, because the defeated slump of Dr. Foster's shoulders makes Dr. Lightman puff up. "Fine. Let me grab my coat."

"Brilliant."

A few minutes later, Dr. Foster glides down the corridor in that self-assured way she has and nods at Dr. Lightman. No smile, but it's a start. Dr. Lightman holds open the door and away they go. Anna isn't entirely sure what's going on, but it feels like the wind has suddenly shifted.

Maybe tomorrow, Dr. Foster will wear something other than grey or black.

**MAY**

"Do you think it's a stupid idea?" Ria flicks her gaze from the acceptance letter to Eli. He hesitates, revealing little.

"No. I think it's going to be really hard. I think it's going to take a long time. I think you already have a great opportunity here."

"But?"

Eli sighs, drawing his chair closer to her. They're in the lab, the screens replaying an interview on loop. He shakes his head, at a loss.

"I don't understand why it matters. Why do you need a degree? You're a natural. Do you know what I'd give to have an ounce of what you've got?"

"That's not the point."

"What _is_ the point? Honestly? Why are you doing all this? Because Foster put you up to it?"

Ria frowns. "She made the suggestion and set up meetings for me, but not once has she pushed me. Has it occurred to you that I may _want_ to be more than this? I _like_ the research and I like working with Foster."

"So this is about getting published? Trust me, it's not all it's cracked up to be."

Ria shakes her head and stands. "I see the lies, I can interpret them, but I won't always understand them. I want more than that... a lot more." What Eli can't seem to grasp, Ria muses, is that she doesn't want to end up like Lightman. She wants a little more substance when she holds an inquisition. It's taken a few years and quite a few discussions with Foster for Ria to come to this conclusion.

"Fine," he holds up his hands in surrender. Leaning back in his chair, he crosses a leg. "Just make sure you think this through, okay? Doing this and college full-time? It's a big deal."

"Yeah, I get that. _Thanks_." Ria leaves and walks into the hall. She stands between the offices of her two bosses, debating where she should seek advice. She peeks into Foster's office and finds it empty. Shrugging, she turns to Lightman's office. Well, he has been more communicative lately. Worth a shot.

She enters silently and finds her bosses sitting quietly. Foster is sitting at the couch with five files open and scattered around her, armed with a highlighter and pen. Lightman is sitting at his desk, transfixed on Foster.

Ria steps out quickly, taken aback. Such an intimate moment. She nearly turns to leave, but she hears Foster saying, _Don't you have work to do?_

Torres steels herself and enters, this time Lightman is typing while Foster has an amused expression on her face. She turns to Ria and smiles expectantly.

"Hey, I was just wondering if I could talk to both of you for a second…"

**JUNE**

Eli stretches, sore and exhausted. Things had been going great for a month or so. Foster and Lightman were buddy cops again, the cases were easy and plentiful, Ria was still talking to him… But now — it's like everything did a 180 in a matter of hours. He's spent the last three days working around the clock, scouring records and reviewing video. Normally, he'd just say this was all a wash, but this time there was reasonable doubt to the contrary.

The problem was that Foster said something wasn't right with this supposedly open-and-shut case. Nowadays, when she said something like that, the whole office dropped everything and listened. So here he was, 72 hours later, staring at mind-numbing footage. He knows he's been at it too long, but something about this case…

There's movement in the corridor, which surprises him, given the late hour. He creeps to the entrance of the lab and listens.

"You can't just walk away, Foster."

"Sure I can."

"I thought we talked about this. I thought you forgave me."

"You took me to lunch and hedged around the topic —"

"But your face —"

"Damnit Cal! You can't conjure up an expression to assuage your guilt. I can firmly say that at the time and now, I have not forgiven you."

"Since there are so many transgressions to forgive, please inform me as to which one I should be apologizing for." Eli frowns and shrinks away from the door. The patronizing tone in Lightman's voice is borderline cruel.

"Stop dismissing my claims. I'm telling you straight up that the man we're working with isn't right in the head." Eli can barely see Foster, but she sounds tightly wound. "You did this with Le Fort and you're doing it now."

"God, can we put that entire event to rest already!" Lightman pushes up his sleeves as Foster stalks over to him.

"Put it to rest?" Foster seethes lowly. "Put it to rest?" she growls. "No, it can't be _put to rest_. I was kidnapped and tortured. No amount of forgetting will make that go away. I have scars that I have to see every morning when I get dressed and nightmares every night. So a big, fat, emphatic _NO_, Cal. It can't be put to rest because it will _always_ be with me."

Lightman is unfazed. "That's what this is about?"

"No, this is about you making me doubt myself. For making me feel anything less than great at my job. It's very difficult to do what I need to do, when I know that you never fully believe I'm doing it as good as you."

"That's nothing personal, it's human nature." Eli cringes at Lightman's admission. _Way to go_.

"No, it's a lack of trust. For all you've said about me losing faith in you, you sure haven't shown you have much in me."

"Foster —" his voice softens, just a touch.

"Leave me alone. Right now." Her footsteps echo down the hall. "Just… leave me alone. I'm done doing this with you." Eli isn't quite sure, but something about the way she says it sends a chill down his spine, like her words are injected with this insidious frost.

Eli arrives late the next morning, feeling worn and weary. Walking down the hall, he passes a gentleman with a toolbox, chattering on the phone. Eli needs to speak with Foster, but isn't quite sure how to go about it, because frankly, he's concerned about much more than the status of this case. He drops his bag in the lab then musters his exhausted courage.

Stopping just outside Foster's office, Eli spots Lightman standing just inside holding the door open. They're talking, less heated than before.

"…Did you really need to change the sign, Cal? It's a bit over the top, don't you think?"

He shrugs uncertainly. "I know you're not one for grand gestures, but I don't know what else to do to demonstrate that I have the utmost faith in you."

"Putting my name on the wall isn't going to change that. It's how you treat me. Until that changes, I don't see there being much of a solution."

"I know I buggered it up, Foster, I get that. And I _did_ apologize to you for that. But you holding this grudge against me is only hurting us."

"I'm not holding a grudge."

"Why are you being so obstinate! I'm completely at a loss here. What do you want me to do so I can fix this?"

"I already told you, Cal. _Respect_ me."

Eli backs away and shakes his head to himself. Perhaps he'll spend the rest of the day in the lab.

Thankfully, it's Foster that discovers the lone anomaly with the footage. Something about a pair of fresh eyes always helps when a case desperately needs to be closed.

**JULY**

She's sitting in her office, the lights are dim and the outside world is quiet. Beside her sits a bottle of wine and a half-full coffee cup.

"Sorry we don't have any glasses," Gillian says with a smile as she looks across to her guest. "Best I could do, I'm afraid."

"Not a problem," Bobby takes a plentiful sip. "You look good. Very good actually. Much better than when I saw you last."

"When was that? About a month ago?"

"Thereabouts. Zoe said Lightman was up to something and that you weren't having any of it."

Gillian offers a bemused smile, yet remains quiet as she sips from her mug. He acknowledges her silence on the matter, but, as lawyers are wont to do, refuses to let it drop.

"I noticed that the sign in the hall went back to normal. _Lightman and Foster_ didn't work for you?" She shakes her head no, with a subtle roll of the eyes. "I imagine you're prone to subtle, heartfelt gestures."

"Yeah, Lindsay's the one who loves the over the top stuff," Gillian replies smartly. "Besides, it's not my ego that was on the line, it was his."

Bobby smirks. "You sure about that? You may not be egomaniacal, but your name is attached to this company regardless of the letterhead."

"What do you mean?" she crosses her legs and cocks her head to the side. "Do you think I'm acting this way because of a bruised ego?"

Bobby swirls his mug and gulps, deliberating. "I think that when we don't have families, our sense of self gets wrapped up in our work, in what we do and how we perform. I think that case last month just reminded you that you're still on unequal footing with him and it alarms you." She feels Bobby's scrutinizing gaze and doesn't bother hiding her scowl. "I can say one thing with the utmost certainty. Lightman does a lot of shoddy things, but he is very clear on his high opinion of you and never hides it… from anyone."

His implication rests in the air between them. Like a hard pill to swallow, Gillian weighs his words, frowning. "I know he cares and doesn't want anything bad to happen to me. Regardless, his behavior and attitude towards me and my work reflect very little of his… belief in my abilities."

Bobby nods in a way that shows he expects this argument and it infuriates her. "You disagree?"

"I think you both are two brilliant people, two brilliant minds. I think you both have traits that complement each other and sometimes _both_ of you take advantage of the other's weaknesses. You _know_ he loves the attention and the limelight. You know that he will stop at nothing to get to the truth, no matter who or what comes to harm in the process. Knowing all this, you remain. You've turned down perfectly bland, complacent jobs to stay here, putting up with his bullshit. No one is holding a gun to your head, Gillian. If you're unhappy here, then take one of the many offers that come your way."

Bobby's characteristic monologue complete, he stands and sets his empty mug on the edge of the coffee table. "Once I get to Boston, I'll tell Lindsey to give you a call. She's going to want you with us at Thanksgiving."

She sighs and nods. "I'm stuck with you for life, aren't I?"

"Apparently that's the way family works, Gill." She stands and gives him a hug goodbye. "Watch out for Zoe, will you? Make sure she doesn't team up with some lackey with a nice ass."

Gillian smiles as she pulls away. "I'll be sure to let Lightman screen all the applicants."

"Thanks."

"Good luck with the move and make sure you bring Linds some roses. Two dozen should do it."

"Right," Bobby sighs. "Seriously Gillian, give it some thought. If you aren't happy, it's time to cut him loose."

Gillian settles back on her couch with a newly filled mug and more to ponder. To stay, or to go?

Just then, her phone buzzes. It's a text from Cal, asking if she needs sustenance. An unbidden smile forms as she replies.

_No thanks, I think I'll stay here a while longer._

**AUGUST**

"What?"

"You, sittin' there on the grass, lookin' like the Queen of Sheba."

She grins in reply and continues basking in the sun outside the courthouse housing their clandestine clients. Cal watches her for a moment, then decides to follow suit and slips off his socks and shoes. Blast his pasty Englishman feet.

"Makes you think, doesn't it?" she asks after a bit.

"About what?" Cal picks at the grass around them, his eyes glued to Gillian.

"Them. Walking into a relationship without any fears, just love."

"Rather idealistic perspective of the whole situation, Foster. They have a great many things to be afraid of."

"Like _forever_?"

"Forever?" Cal looks over at her quizzically, but her sunglasses have shielded her most revealing feature.

"People put a simple label on a complex emotion and expect it to last, regardless of circumstance or outside influence. Promising to love someone for the rest of one's life is idealistic, yes, but it's also brave… in a naive sort of way."

Cal scoffs at her words, the underlying cynicism tinged with relentless hope. It's hard to refute an eternal optimist. "So you're sayin' that if a sad sap dropped to one knee in front of you right now, you'd smile at him, but wave him on?"

She shrugs, and he shakes his head. "I don't believe it. You, Gillian Foster, believer of seeing the good through all the bad, wisher on stars and ladybugs, would turn a bloke down, just like that?"

"Noooo," she exhales the word and smiles at him patiently. "I'd ask him what his idea of love was and why he thought he could sustain that feeling for the rest of his life. I'd ask him for a time-line. I'd ask him where he pictured us two, five, ten… twenty years down the road. I'd ask him what he'd do when he couldn't stand the sight of me; or how he'd act when tempted by another woman; I'd ask what he thought of adopting a child**. **Because… let's face it, the fleeting gain of a couple years of passionate love is not worth the solitary loss of several years of heartache."

Cal's jaw, fallen slack in surprise from Foster's outburst, only pulls shut when he realizes she has yet to look at him. He sits back and takes in her words, knowing that he has some serious questions to contemplate.

"Sad sap indeed," Cal murmurs as the couple emerge from the courthouse.

**SEPTEMBER**

"Does it ever bother you?" Ria questions over her intro to psychology textbook as she blatantly catalogues every flicker upon Foster's face.

"Does what?" She's only halfway paying attention, preoccupied with a document that has _Top __Secret_ stamped across the top.

"The way Lightman acts sometimes," Ria states carefully. "I mean, for months, he's been groveling and pretty much at your beck and call, and one day, a pretty skirt shows up and he's done a one-eighty."

Oddly, a sly grin creeps across Foster's face, drawing Ria up straighter in her chair.

Foster takes her time responding, choosing to finish reading the document first, then placing it safely in the confines of its manila envelope. She leans forward and places her chin daintily atop her closed fist.

"I am… beyond happy that he has resumed his old ways. One: it means that things will return to normal around here. We've been… stuck in this odd state of limbo for months and frankly, it was beginning to get old. Two: anything that draws his attention away from me is always a positive in my book."

Ria nods in understanding, knowing first-hand what it's like to bear the brunt of his unwavering scrutiny. Just one thing catches her attention.

"So… you're happy he's back to his old ways? That's a little surprising."

Foster emits a cheshire smile and leans back in her chair, stretching out her long legs before crossing them.

"I've forgiven him, he's not nearly as reckless as he used to be, and… let's face it, Ria," Foster runs her hand through her hair, giving away the subtle anxiety surrounding this admission, "Lightman is a good many things, but _restrained_ is not one of them. The day he stops chasing pretty skirts will be a day worth noting."

Ria shakes her head, understanding the unspoken words in Foster's comment. That day, whenever it comes, will only mean one thing and Foster better be ready.

Two days later, Ria sits in the conference room writing a paper for colonial history while conspicuously watching as Lightman politely refuses the leggy blonde in a pretty skirt. As the blonde shakes his hand and turns to depart, Foster turns a corner, her head buried in a file. Lightman reaches out and grabs her forearm, his hand sliding down the smooth skin and stopping just at her wrist.

As he hangs on lightly, Ria observes in complete wonder and shock as Lightman almost sheepishly asks Foster a question, complete with a nervous scratch to the back of his head. Judging by Foster's quick flush and apologetic smile, the poor man is on his own for dinner tonight.

As Foster walks away, Lightman shoves his hands in his pockets and takes a deep breath of fortitude. The man will not be shaken in his resolve.

Good thing too, because it'll take him nearly a month before he gets that evening with his partner.

**October**

It's early yet, just barely dusk. He is not following her. No, it's more like… attentive shadowing.

He finds her in a bar in a semi-shady part of the city. A jazz bar to be exact. Upon entering, he sizes up the relaxed room and spots Foster perched on a piano bench in the corner, tinkering away. Nodding at the bar tender, he motions for tumbler of something from the top shelf.

Cal grabs a chair and slides up to the piano where he's facing Gillian and takes a seat. She shows no surprise at his presence, merely nodding her head as she continues to play a warm, rich melody.

For a few moments he takes in the scene, how the saxophonist is seated at the bar, how there are only two other patrons, one of whom appears to have come with the establishment.

Cal takes a pull of his drink and rests it on his leg, his eyes tracking her fingers as they work across the keys by muscle memory and experimentation.

"I've got some important questions for you," Cal finally states, his voice a little too gravelly. She glances up at him and nods her head, but says no more.

"So…" he resettles himself and prepares for battle. "Toilet paper. Do you have it coming over or under?"

She is thrown by his opener, but responds all the same. "Over."

"Milk a day or two past it's expiration date but it smells fine. Toss or drink?"

She screws up her face briefly and shrugs. "Drink, I guess? My stomach will tell me if that was a mistake."

He smiles again, appreciating her surrender to blunt honesty. "Do you do the dishes as you cook or let them pile up and have a heaping mess at the end?"

"Uh… depends on what I'm making?" she's growing a little impatient with this line of questioning, but they're important to him.

"Which side of the bed do you sleep on?"

Doesn't skip a beat. "The middle. And yes, I'm a blanket hog. And… I've been known to throw an elbow or two."

"Well… I kick."

"Noted."

"Sunday mornings. Sleep in and lazy or up before the sun?"

"It's called the day of rest for a reason, right?" She shoots back, smirking at him as her fingers tickle the pale keys.

"Right you are," Cal replies, enjoying the way her music is wrapping around him comfortably. "When you're attracted to another man, what stops you from going that extra step and crossing the line?"

The seriousness of his question makes her fingers trip, but she resumes admirably. She talks to the keys quietly, the truth spilling out like staccato notes.

"The possibility… the… chance that it might… hurt… you."

He welcomes the truth so much so, that he leans forward and rests his hand on his chin.

"Do you believe that it works the same way for me?" He murmurs and bites his lip. "That maybe it always has? That perhaps, it's… why I stopped?"

She slows in her playing, but not quite. He wishes that she would stop, but knows how fragile this conversation is and that this piano is her lifeline.

Breathing in, he resumes: "I can say that without fail, even when I'm beyond angry with you, I still check your office every night before I go home, making sure you're not too angry to eat. That… when I see a beautiful woman, I unconsciously compare her to you, and figure that she'd fall short somehow… even if she's a double D."

Gillian laughs softly and rolls her eyes.

"And here's the part where you might get a little angry. I may have… forged your signature on a document."

She stops and looks at him, disapproval and disappointment at the ready.

"Hold on, there Foster. I resubmitted the paperwork to the adoption agency. You're uh… _we're_ getting a home visit in two weeks."

Gobsmacked, she goldfishes for a moment, at a complete loss. "Cal, I don't… I don't know what to say."

"You don't need to say much, Darlin'. Just… promise me you'll consider the offer."

"_Offer?"_ Her eyes convey the uncertainty her words do not.

He'd love for his heart to stop hammering in his chest, but it starts to skitter about and his hesitation undercuts his intended nonchalance. She seizes upon this and resumes playing, arrhythmically delving deep into the lower octaves, matching his syncopated heart.

Setting his mostly full glass on the piano, he leans forward on his knees and runs his index finger underneath her left arm, lightly wrapping his fingers around her wrist and pulling her hand away. Her hand encased in his, Cal finally looks up and finds her gaze resting on their joined hands.

"_Everything_," he whispers as he rubs his thumb along her ring finger, mustering some bravado. "Two-thousand Sundays, spent with yours truly. This offer comes complete with brunch on Saturdays, dinner on most days, sex on any day, arguments over blankets and dishes and thermostats and any assortment of marital trifles, but mostly…" he reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ear, "mostly it'll be love. In every way, every day, till we're weathered and nearly blind."

Tears in her eyes, she smiles this… luminous smile, taking his breath away. But then she breaks eye contact and looks down at their hands. Too long. The hesitation, it's not the ponderous kind. It's the _I can't do this _kind. His whole body plummets as she squeezes his hand and pulls away, leaving him grasping at nothing.

He hears only the pounding in his ears and marvels at her ability to simply resume playing _like nothing happened_. She mumbles something, but he doesn't catch it.

"Come again?"

"I said… make it twenty five hundred Sundays," she says with an twisted little smirk, "and you have yourself a deal."

Cal's shock is quickly replaced with elation as he huffs out an incredulous laugh. He leans back in his seat and shakes his head at her stunt. Grabbing his glass, he crosses his leg and rids the tumbler of its contents with one swallow.

He hunkers down as this woman, this incredibly strong and brave and endlessly beautiful woman continues to play, each note with a lilt upwards.

"You, my dear Gillian," he states in the absence of sporadic flats and sharps, "have yourself a deal."

He keeps his seat beside her, watching over the brim of his glass in rapt, ponderous silence. Lip quirked knowingly, she plays on into the night with her fingers creeping along the keys. Her movements, at first hesitant, grow more assured, plucking and picking their way to higher notes until she reaches the end.

_le fin_

.::.::.::.::.

A/N: The ending was cheesy and the epilogue disjointed, but I'm liquored up and it felt right. Thanks to the ten of you that repeatedly reviewed. To the rest of you (60-ish by my count), well, I assume you enjoyed reading this labor of love, though I wouldn't know, considering you never bothered to share. Last time's a charm, I figure.

2. Farewell, Lie to Me. In the end, I grew to hate Cal, and that was reflected in this story. Regardless, I believe most importantly that Gillian deserves to be happy. So in my dream world, she's found herself a good man, one who will love her and not drive her insane. May they rest in peace. Once again, thanks and good night.


End file.
